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PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 



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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
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TORONTO 



PSYCHOLOGY AND 
PREACHING 



BY 

CHARLES S. GARDNER 

Professor of Homiletics and Sociology in The 
Southern Baptist Theological Seminary 



£fom fork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

1918 

All rights reserved 



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COPTKIGHT, 1918 
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 



Set up and electrotyped. Published, April, 1918 



APR 18 19: 



©CI.A494650 



TO 

THE MEMORY 
OF 

ELLEN WOOD GARDNER 

MY MOTHER 
AND 

ARIADNE TURNER GARDNER 

MY WIFE 

TO EACH OF WHOM I OWE 

A DEBT TOO GREAT FOR WORDS 



PREFACE 

The field of educational psychology has been very 
thoroughly worked over, though the last word has by no 
means been said. The help which teachers have derived 
from it is very great, and no one now is considered equipped 
for that noble profession who has not mastered its principles. 
But so far as my knowledge extends there have been few 
serious efforts to apply modern psychology to preaching. 
Indeed, the statement might be made even more nearly abso- 
lute without doing violence to facts. There have been homi- 
letical works almost without number, applying the formal 
rules of logic and rhetoric to sermon-making, and books on 
elocution are even more numerous. But the works dis- 
cussing the preparation and delivery of sermons rarely, if 
ever, approach the subject from the standpoint of modern 
functional psychology. The psychological conceptions un- 
derlying most of these treatises belong to a stage of psycho- 
logical thought long since past. 

But there seems to be just as much reason for applying 
the principles of modern psychology to preaching as for ap- 
plying them to teaching. And the works on educational 
psychology will not suffice for this purpose, although they 
are often suggestive and helpful to the preacher. In some 
respects educational and homiletical psychology coincide, 
but they are by no means coextensive ; and when they cover 
the same ground there are of necessity important differences 
of emphasis. 

In this book some aspects of the psychology of religion 
are discussed, because they lie within the scope of the au- 
thor's plan ; but the book is not a treatise on the psychology 
of religion. It is simply an attempt to make a thorough- 



PREFACE 

going application of psychological principles to preaching. 
However, it is something more than an " application." It 
has grown out of the author's effort to teach homiletical 
psychology to young ministers ; and he has found that many 
of them have so inadequate a grasp of psychology that a 
good deal of explanation had to precede the application. He 
has, therefore, gone more thoroughly into an exposition of 
the general principles of psychology than would be neces- 
sary in a book which sought only to make an application of a 
science already understood. He has in consequence under- 
taken a somewhat independent discussion of those aspects 
of psychology which seemed to him most important in their 
bearing on preaching. It is hoped, of course, that the book 
may secure a wide reading among ministers generally, and 
even among other public speakers; and it is probable that 
numbers of them can not safely be assumed to have a very 
thorough acquaintance with the rather new but fascinating 
science of functional psychology. It is hoped that this is a 
sufficient apology for what may seem to some an unduly 
ambitious attempt by a theological professor. 

Two of the chapters have been previously published, — 
that on Belief in The Review and Expositor, and that on 
Assemblies in the American Journal of Sociology; and 
they appear here with the consent of those periodicals. 

I feel it needless to try to express in detail my obligation 
to numerous writers on psychology. The names of many, 
but by no means all, of those to whom I feel deeply in- 
debted are mentioned in the text or in foot-note references. 
I wish to acknowledge my especial indebtedness to the mem- 
bers of the Faculty of the institution in which I have the 
honor to teach, for many valuable criticisms upon several 
chapters which were read to them. I am also under deep 
obligation to the Reverend Edward L. Grace, D. D., for a 
critical reading of the entire manuscript and many valuable 
suggestions. 

Charles S. Gardner. 
Louisville, Ky., 
February 18th, 1918. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

General Controls of Conduct i 

Reflexes. Structural and functional definition of in- 
stincts. Instincts not racial habits. Less rigidly organized 
in men than in lower animals. Native dispositions to be 
distinguished from instincts. Some native dispositions 
transmissible by heredity, others not. The conditions un- 
der which consciousness appears. Its function is adapta- 
tion to a complex and variable environment. Habit — its 
physical basis and relation to consciousness. Man more 
largely a creature of habit than lower animals. Man less 
controlled by habit in a more complex and changeable en- 
vironment. Rationality becomes more dominant. Differ- 
ent theories of the subconscious. As yet comparatively 
little light upon the problem. 

CHAPTER II 
Mental Images 19 

Their nature. Forms of imagery corresponding to every 
sense. Differences in individual capacity for imagery. 
Conditions of the recall of images. Selection of details 
in recall. Inexactness of the recalled image. Images the 
material of the intellectual life. Relation to literary style 
and to practical achievement. 

CHAPTER III 
Mental Systems . 34 

Processes of organization. Concepts built up in various 
fields of experience. Reflective and unreflective organiza- 
tion, and the functions of concepts thus formed. Organi- 
zation of mental images is the process of acquiring mean- 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 



ing. Use, or functional, meanings. Theoretical, or critical, 
meanings. Differentiation of mental systems. Differen- 
tiating influences — occupations, organic differences, men- 
tal environments. Effect of differentiation of meanings. 
Practical problems involved. The problem of understand- 
ing. The problem of exposition. The problem of con- 
troversy. The problem of co-operation. 



CHAPTER IV 
Feeling 65 

Feelings and feeling-tones. Feelings and emotions. 
Pain and unpleasantness. Physiological and psychical 
factors of feeling, and their relation to one another. The 
cause of pleasantness and unpleasantness. The relation of 
feeling to desire. Feeling and habit. The feeling-tone as 
related to the strength of the stimulus. Intelligence and 
the enrichment of the emotional life. Bearing upon the 
practical problems of preaching. 

CHAPTER V 
Sentiments and Ideals 94 

Definition of sentiment. Sentiments classified as con- 
crete and abstract. Sentiments classified according to 
their moral value. Tendency to centralize character about 
one sentiment. Analysis of an ideal. The ideal as a pure 
construction of the imagination, and as realized in a single 
specimen of a class. Relation of ideals to sentiments. 
How these emotional dispositions are developed. The 
great task and opportunity of the preacher. 

CHAPTER VI 
The Excitation of Feeling 115 

Ways of arousing feeling. Two ways of arousing feel- 
ing at the disposal of the orator — peculiar personal char- 
acteristics, and communication by expression. Voluntary 
control of the feelings. " Tearing a passion to tatters." 
Dramatic action — its nature and value to _ the orator. 
Style — especially the skilful use of pictorial language 
and rhythm. The importance of harmony between feel- 
ings aroused by different stimuli. Individual variations 
in emotional power. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER VII PAGE 

Belief 135 

Belief conditioned by previous mental content. Six dif- 
ferent ways the mind may react to a new presentation 
— compulsory acceptance; passive acceptance; positive 
acceptance; tentative acceptance; suspension of judgment; 
positive rejection. The nature of belief — acceptance as 
a safe basis of action. Function of doubt. The closed 
mind. Influence of feeling upon belief, doubt and rejec- 
tion. Three classes of beliefs — primitive credulity, ra- 
tional conviction, and vital assurance. Belief originating 
in feeling given intellectual form. Intellectual reorgan- 
ization involves distress of heart. The relation of the 
preacher to religious doubt. 



CHAPTER VIII 

Attention 164 

Its nature — focalized consciousness. Its function — to 
select among the objects of the environment and to direct 
action. Compulsory attention. Voluntary attention. 
Spontaneous attention. The orator should seek for spon- 
taneous attention by keeping in line with the hearer's 
dominant interest. Its scope. Its constant shifting from 
one object to another. Its fluctuations. Three different 
wave-lengths noted. 

CHAPTER IX 
Voluntary Action 186 

Responsiveness of the living being to its surroundings. 
These responses leave modifications in the organism. 
Modes of responsiveness characterizing the vegetable, 
animal, and human grades of life. Increasing complexity 
of organisms as the grades are ascended. Corresponding 
psychical development. The distinctive mark of volun- 
tary action. Life is onward-moving, forth -reaching. On 
the human level it is also consciously directed toward 
ends. The higher and more distant the end, the more vol- 
untary the act. The problem of freedom. Is freedom an 
illusion, or is necessity? The relation of feeling to volun- 
tary action. The preacher interested primarily in the 
character of the mental processes rather than the overt act. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER X 
Suggestion 209 

Distinction between normal and abnormal suggestion. 
Three types of organisms — the aggressive, the stubborn 
(or resistant), and the passive. Suggestibility varies in- 
versely as the insistence of the organism on its autonomy. 
Varies inversely as the mental equipment and organization. 
Suggestible classes — children, women (about certain mat- 
ters), those who have lived in a narrow environment, 
those without stable mental life. Normal suggestion 
should be indirect. Securing the confidence of the subject 
important. High emotion increases suggestibility. Im- 
portance of repetition. Suggestion as contrasted with ra- 
tional persuasion, which should be the. aim of the preacher. 



CHAPTER XI 
Assemblies 236 

The accidental concourse. Psychology of the street 
throng. The inspirational gathering. Three stages of 
psychic fusion. The passing of the assembly into the sec- 
ond and third stages a process of inhibiting rational con- 
trol. Individuals not equally susceptible to crowd-sugges- 
tion. Methods of promoting psychic fusion — close seat- 
ing of the people, concerted bodily movement, singing, 
passionate oratory. Emotions best adapted to produce 
fusion — fear, anger, the tender feeling, the sentiment of 
liberty, the love of old things. Is the process of psychic 
fusion conducive to genuine religious experience? The 
psychology of the deliberative body. 



CHAPTER XII 
Mental Epidemics 265 

The sweep of a common emotional excitement over a 
social group. Results either from like response to same 
stimuli or from communication of feeling, or from both. 
The mental epidemic is wave-like. Each wave of collective 
emotion is followed by a reactionin the opposite direc- 
tion. Two powerful mental epidemics can not occur at the 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 
same time in the same group. They spread along lines of 
mental homogeneity. An uncultured population specially 
subject to extreme excitements. They occur readily as to 
matters about which the group has little or no experience ; 
but often experience is a predisposing cause. Often the 
prevalence in a population of a certain temperamental type 
renders the group more suggestible. In primitive stage 
of society such epidemics quite frequent; and spread 
readily in all directions. In the middle stage the caste 
system prevails and mental epidemics spread only within 
class lines. In modern industrial society they are less in- 
tense, more diffusive and less durable. Excessive phe- 
nomena of this type are becoming rarer. 



CHAPTER XIII 

Occupational Types 290 

These types real and important, notwithstanding indi- 
vidual variations within the type. First, the ministerial 
type. Breadth of the minister's occupation. Narrowing 
tendencies. The habit of dogmatism. Habitual gravity of 
tone and manner. The demand of modern life for a buoy- 
ant and happy disposition. The minister a moral pathol- 
ogist. But tends to over-emphasize loyalty to the eccle- 
siastical institution as a virtue. Economic dependence 
tends to mould the type unfortunately. Spiritual leader- 
ship requires independence of spirit. Second, the labour- 
ing class type. The condition of the labourer's life as 
affecting his intelligence. His labour is physical, long con- 
tinued, exhausting. He deals only with material reality, 
and that of the grosser kind. Works in a social vacuum. 
His leisure is brief. His life in the cities, however, stim- 
ulates intelligence. His life conditions prevent a high de- 
velopment of his emotional nature; and set serious limi- 
tations upon his ethical development. Relation of the min- 
ister to the labourer's problem. Third, the business type. 
Definition of " business man." His importance in modern 
life. His intellectual characteristics. Deals with quanti- 
ties which can be weighed and measured, which gives him 
practical, non-theoretical mind, and disposes him to a 
quantitative evaluation of things. In ethics this type 
places emphasis upon the practical virtues which lie at the 
basis of successful business. A double standard of ethics. 
Religious life similarly affected. The type is non-mystical, 
non-theological, "practical," non-sectarian. Its influence 
upon the religious tendencies of to-day. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Modern Mind 338 

Two general factors of the environment — the natural 
and the human. Under primitive conditions the natural 
factors were dominant. Men lived in the midst of mys- 
terious, uncontrolled nature. Human groups were small, 
with little communication, and with simple organization. 
The world was filled with non-human spirits. Natural 
phenomena given a religious interpretation. Under mod- 
ern conditions — best represented by city life — the human 
and humanly controlled factors of environment domi- 
nate man's consciousness. Men have little contact with 
original nature. Dangers, diseases, success and failure 
originate largely in social conditions. Modern man's 
familiarity with machinery. Human contacts and the 
social organization preoccupy attention. The great de- 
velopment of science. Modern man can not tolerate lone- 
liness. Aesthetic interest in nature develops. Life ad- 
justs itself to the rhythms of social life rather than the 
rhythms of nature. Strenuousness of life increases. The 
, passion for achievement grows. Interest in future life de- 
clines. Scientific answers to all questions desired. The 
universe of natural phenomena depersonalized. Confusion 
as to the relation of God to the natural world. Re- 
ligious interpretation of life declining. The social struggle 
acute, and colours all thinking. Emphasis on the ethical 
aspect of life and religion. Christianity born in an age 
not unlike this, and corrupted as the world reverted to 
primitive conditions. Present conditions, on the whole, 
favourable to the revival of original Christianity. 



PSYCHOLOGY AND 
PREACHING 

CHAPTER I 

GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 

We are accustomed to think of ourselves as rational be- 
ings, i.e., as persons who are guided in our activities by ra- 
tional considerations; but if we scrutinize our conduct we 
shall, perhaps, be surprised to discover what a large propor- 
tion of our actions are never reflected upon, but are per- 
formed under the impulsion of certain tendencies which at 
best are but imperfectly subject to the control of reason, 
even when the conscious effort is made to resist or to guide 
them, and which usually influence us without being con- 
sciously guided at all. After infancy reason can and does 
exercise a general and, in the developing personality, a 
stronger regulative supervision over these tendencies or- 
ganized in us. But it is doubtless true that at best they in- 
fluence the rational processes quite as much as the rational 
processes influence them; and it can hardly be questioned 
that in the majority of human beings they actually do more 
in determining the conclusions reached by thinking than 
thinking does in regulating them. What are the general 
controls of conduct? 

I. Reflexes. A reflex act " is one in which a muscular 
movement occurs in immediate response to a sensory stim- 
ulation without the interposition of consciousness/' * This 
immediacy of response seems to be due to the fact that in 
the nervous organization, especially that part of it located 

1 Angell, " Psychology," p. 286. 

1 



2 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in the spinal cord, certain ingoing and outgoing nerves are 
closely connected, so that the impulse started by the sensa- 
tion goes straight on through without being diverted in its 
course. Consciousness may be aroused and may to a cer- 
tain extent be able to inhibit the responsive act; though 
that is often not possible. If one touches a red-hot iron he 
will almost inevitably jerk back his hand; and it requires 
the most strenuous exertion of the will to inhibit this re- 
flex muscular action. Only for a little while can we stop 
the winking of the eyes, and if a cinder enters the eye we 
can not resist the tendency to shut the lids. Ordinarily 
and normally, reflex actions go on without awakening con- 
sciousness; but under certain conditions the nervous im- 
pulse instead of passing immediately and entirely through 
the outgoing nerve to produce a motor response, radiates in 
some measure to nervous centres which are located higher 
up and which directly condition consciousness. These re- 
flex actions are not automatic in the sense in which the proc- 
esses of digestion and circulation of the blood and other 
so-called automatisms are; for the latter are not in any 
appreciable measure subject to the immediate control of 
the will, however much they may be indirectly and gradually 
modified by conscious attitudes. These automatisms are 
physiological and, although of the greatest importance to 
public speaking, can not properly be treated in a discussion 
of psychological phenomena. To be sure, they might with 
a considerable show of reason be regarded as reflexes of a 
more fundamental and thoroughly organized character; or 
the reflexes might be regarded as automatisms a little less 
rigidly organized and a little more exposed to the direct 
interference of consciousness. 

We need not dwell upon the reflexes, though they are not 
without interest to the speaker in some respects. As he 
stands before an audience he is an object of sense to them; 
he influences them mainly, if not exclusively, through eye 
and ear sensations, and many of the responses he evokes 
from them are of the reflex type ; and many of their move- 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 3 

ments are reflexive actions in response to the sensations 
arising from their physical circumstances. Especially is this 
true of children, who have little power to restrain these 
reflexive tendencies. But far more important are — 

II. The instincts. Instincts may be defined either in 
terms of structure or of function. First, as to structure. 
If we think of a reflex as a direct connection or co-ordina- 
tion of a nerve which receives a sensation with a nerve 
which controls the movement of a muscle, so that the stim- 
ulation of the first causes an immediate contraction of the 
second, then the best way to think of an instinct on its 
physical side is as a combination or complication of a 
number of reflexes; so that the stimulation of a nerve 
which receives the sensation is followed by a series of re- 
flex actions terminating finally in an adaptive movement of 
the body. The dividing line between the reflex and the in- 
stinct is not easy to draw. Perhaps it is better to say that 
the one gradually merges into the other. But the char- 
acteristic mark of the first is simplicity, and of the second, 
complexity of nervous co-ordination. Second, as to func- 
tion, it may be defined " as the faculty of acting in such a 
way as to produce certain ends, without foresight of the 
ends, and without previous education in the performance." l 
" Instincts are functional correlations of structure." An- 
gell says : " If the activity involves a number of acts, each 
one of which, considered singly and alone, is relatively use- 
less, but all of which taken together lead up to some adap- 
tive consequence, such as the building of a nest, the feeding 
of young, etc., it will be safe to call the action instinctive." 2 
McDougall defines an instinct " as an inherited or innate 
psycho-physical disposition which determines its possessor 
to perceive, and to pay attention to, objects of a certain 
class, to experience an emotional excitement of a particular 
quality upon perceiving such an object, and to act in regard 
to it in a particular manner, or, at least, to experience an 

1 James, " Psychology, Briefer Course," p. 391. 

2 " Psychology," p. 288. 



4 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

impulse to such action." * This very carefully framed 
definition seems to include too much in the way of intel- 
lectual process for instinctive action, pure and simple; 
but doubtless describes quite accurately the operation as it 
actually takes place in the higher animals and in men, in 
whom it rarely or never occurs without involving intel- 
lectual and emotional processes which are not strictly parts 
of it. 

In brief, we may sum up by saying that an instinct is, 
structurally, a certain inherited, complex co-ordination of 
nerves; and, functionally, an inherited tendency to act in 
a certain way in the presence of certain stimuli. To what 
extent does it involve consciousness? That is difficult to 
say. But it seems to be well established that consciousness 
in any clear and definite sense of the term — what is some- 
times called " correlated consciousness " — is connected only 
with the upper brain centres, the cerebral cortex; and in 
animals whose nervous systems have not developed these 
higher functions the instinctive adjustments are made with- 
out consciousness. Consciousness is involved just so far 
as the cortex is developed and correlated with the lower 
instinctive centres. As James says, " there is no fore-sight 
of the ends," and where there is no fore-sight of ends it is 
reasonable to suppose that there is just as little conscious 
realization of the meaning of the action for the organism — 
i.e., there is little or no emotional interpretation of the 
action, although the physical aspects of emotional experience 
are present. Sensation must be very unclear and the feel- 
ing-tones very slight, if present at all. Other things being 
equal, consciousness becomes more clear, luminous, intense 
as the scale of organic complexity is ascended ; and this is as 
true with respect to feeling on its conscious side as it is with 
respect to intelligence. 

Instinct is sometimes called racial habit. This has the 
sound of a felicitous phrase, and seems to give an insight 
into its real nature ; but it also seems to imply the transmis- 

1 " Social Psychology," p. 29. 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 5 

sion of acquired characters from one generation to another. 
How else could a race consisting of a succession of distinct 
persons acquire a habit? But the weight of scientific opin- 
ion is decidedly against this assumption. It is, therefore, 
better not to speak of instincts as racial habits, notwithstand- 
ing the very obvious superficial likeness; for they seem to 
constitute a class of phenomena quite different from habits. 
One of the characteristic marks of a habit is that it is not 
transmissible by heredity, whereas one of the most char- 
acteristic marks of an instinct is that it is hereditary. A 
habit is acquired in and by individual experience ; an instinct 
is given at the beginning of experience — certainly so far as 
the individual is concerned. The problem of the origin and 
perpetuation of instincts, since they are racial traits, is one 
with the origin and perpetuation of species; and these are 
problems which do not come within the scope of a psycho- 
logical discussion, though they do have a most important 
bearing upon the philosophical interpretation of the in- 
stincts. 

But important for this discussion are the facts that they 
are racial traits, that they are inherited and that they are 
the most significant controls of conduct with which the in- 
dividual begins his career in the world. There are, how- 
ever, individual variations in instincts. The same instincts 
are far from being equally strong in different individuals, 
though they are all present in all normal examples of the 
species. The instinct of flight, for instance, is very strong 
in some, and very weak in others; and so with all the in- 
stincts. One instinct may be dominant in one, and a quite 
different instinct dominant in another individual; and by 
reason of the dominancy of one or another of the instincts, 
the same stimulus may provoke a different instinctive re- 
sponse in different individuals. The situation which pro- 
duces self-abasement in one may excite self-assertion in an- 
other. The fact of individual variation in the strength of 
the instincts is too much a matter of every-day observa- 
tion to require emphasis here. 



6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

A fact not so obvious but quite as important is that the 
instincts can be modified in their strength by experience. 
Habit — which will be discussed in a later section of this 
chapter — reinforces some and weakens others. A person 
born with the fear instinct dominant may, by cultivating 
persistently his weaker instinct of pugnacity or aggres- 
siveness, overcome to a large extent this original handi- 
cap. One born with the appropriating instinct in normal 
strength may by the formation of the proper habit very 
much reduce it, and develop a character of great liberality 
and generosity ; or magnify it until it becomes the supreme 
principle of conduct and so develop a character of un- 
scrupulous covetousness. While, therefore, instincts are 
in a certain measure fixed, they are far from being abso- 
lutely unchangeable factors of experience. The environ- 
ment in which the person lives, especially the part of it 
which he is brought into direct relation with, acts as a 
selective influence, stimulating some of his instincts and 
developing them to greater power; and, by leaving others 
without stimulation, inevitably condemns them to be weak- 
ened through atrophy. By way of application it may be 
remarked in passing that preaching is one method, and may 
be a very effective one, of bringing the person into more 
vital and stimulating relation with certain most important 
phases of his environment and thus may gradually but 
powerfully modify the strength of his various instincts. 

Another fact of prime importance is that the instinctive 
organization of the human species is much less definite, 
fixed and rigid than that of the lower animals. The in- 
stincts of inferior species can hardly be modified by exper- 
ience. However, it may be done within narrow limits in 
the case of those which stand highest among the sub-human 
orders of life; but as the scale is descended this capacity 
becomes more limited, until finally at the lower end it 
reaches zero. But in man the instinctive organization is, 
if the crude expression may be tolerated, very much looser, 
and is subject to the possibility of almost indefinite modi- 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 7 

fication, though, of course, it cannot be annulled. The in- 
stincts are, then, and continue to be, most important factors 
in determining responses to the environment; but they are 
far from being so dominant as in the lower ranks of life, 
and do not act with anything like the same precision and 
invariability. It may be true, though the statement cannot 
be made dogmatically, that in the history of man's develop- 
ment his instincts have on the whole become less definite, 
less rigid in the regularity and uniformity of their action, 
and more modifiable. With the higher development of the 
race they certainly do play a less dominant role as controls 
of conduct. This does not mean that they are destined to 
disappear with the continued advance of mankind ; but that 
other controls of conduct will become relatively stronger. 

III. Native dispositions form a distinct class of psychic 
phenomena. Sometimes they are classified as instincts ; but 
improperly so, unless instincts should be regarded as in- 
cluding all inborn tendencies. It seems better not to con- 
fuse them with instincts. The latter are definitely or- 
ganized and specific nervous co-ordinations. Native dis- 
positions are not; they are only general tendencies of the 
nervous constitution. One may, for instance, be conserva- 
tive or radical; irritable or placid; thoughtful or heedless; 
brilliant or dull; queer or normal, etc., etc. The disposi- 
tions do not control conduct as the instincts do, by the 
automatic setting off of a pre-formed series of nervous co- 
ordinations. When a disposition is active the specific motor 
responses may vary greatly according to other conditions; 
but the disposition will impart to the act its characteristic 
quality and direction. The conservative under the control 
of his disposition may perform a great variety of specific 
acts, many of which are similar to those of the radical 
whom he is opposing, but manifestly they have a very 
different meaning. 

Some of the native dispositions are transmitted by 
heredity and some are not. Unquestionably many racial 
and family traits belong to this class of phenomena and are 



8 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

so transmitted ; but it is equally obvious that children often 
have constitutional dispositions which are peculiar to them- 
selves. If under the head of native dispositions must be 
classed many general traits of an hereditary character, so 
also must many personal traits which seem to represent so 
many individual variations. 

It is needless to speak of the importance of these dis- 
positions. They are extremely important factors in every 
human relation; and until one's native dispositions are 
known, it is idle even to guess what responses he will make 
to many stimuli. For a leader of men they are of the ut- 
most significance. But they are so very different in dif- 
ferent people and in the same person are often compounded 
in such puzzling ways that few generalizations concerning 
them can be made, and the study of them in individual men 
alone can greatly profit. It is especially the preacher's duty 
to study them with care. 

IV. Consciousness. Consciousness is so intimate and 
familiar a fact that we seldom stop to consider the marvel 
and mystery of it. We can not define it, for any term we 
can use in the definition involves it. It does not exist as 
an abstract reality. We can not be conscious except as we 
are conscious of something. Concretely it occurs as sen- 
sation or image or feeling-tone, or all combined. Some- 
times it is used as practically synonymous with responsive- 
ness to environment; but this use of it is vague, and im- 
plies that it is a property of every form of matter; for mat- 
ter in every form is in some sense responsive to environ- 
ment. Such an idea of consciousness is, therefore, unsat- 
isfactory and leads to confusion of thought. It is better to 
use the term in the ordinary acceptation, as inward aware- 
ness. It may be described as an inward light which falls 
upon the stream of experience. Let us think of it as ex- 
perience become luminous. 

It is important to consider the conditions under which 
it appears. Parallel with the decrease of the definiteness 
and dominance of the instincts in the higher orders of life, 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 9 

and most notably in man, runs an increase in the complex- 
ity of the nervous organization, which is truly wonderful in 
the brute world, but in man, and especially in highly de- 
veloped men, becomes phenomenal. If we think of a nerve 
as a line along which a stimulus is transmitted, the highly 
complex nervous organization of a cultured man presents a 
system of such lines all but infinite in its intricacy, com- 
prehending subordinate and sub-subordinate systems, and 
all so inter-related that a stimulation affecting any part of it 
will spread to larger and larger areas, according to the de- 
gree of its intensity and to the general condition of the or- 
ganism; and it often radiates along these myriad paths of 
conduction until it involves the whole system. This in- 
crease in complexity of nervous organization is the physical 
basis of a corresponding increase in the number of possible 
reactions upon the environment. In a simple reflex act 
there is just the one reaction possible. In a purely in- 
stinctive action the reaction is more complex than in the re- 
flex, but there is still no alternative. But with the increase 
of the complexity of the nervous organization the organ- 
ism more and more acquires the power to retain and revive 
the impressions made by past reactions and to utilize them 
in some measure in making subsequent responses. At the 
same time the various sensory areas become linked up to- 
gether. Thus with the power to retain and revive past im- 
pressions and the linking together of the several sense cen- 
tres, it becomes possible for the organism to react in sev- 
eral different ways to the same stimulus ; and it is not only 
possible, there is a tendency for it to do so. Naturally 
these tendencies often conflict with one another, and some 
means of resolving the conflict is needed. It is just here 
that consciousness makes its appearance. These conflicting 
motor tendencies create a general tension in the organism, 
which, as we shall see, is the physical basis of feeling; and 
the means of resolving the conflict is the revival of past im- 
pressions, which always appear as mental images; and 
these, as we shall see, constitute the elements of the intel- 



IO PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

lectual process. The organism has advanced to the rank of 
a conscious and, according to the measure of its conscious- 
ness, a self-directing being. The instinctive reactions be- 
come less definite and mechanical and fall more and more 
under the direction of consciousness. In even the highest 
species below the human level we see only the rudimentary 
stages of this; but in man the power of conscious self-di- 
rection stands out as his crowning trait, the mark of his dig- 
nity in the universe of living things. 

With the growing complexity of the nervous organization 
and the retention and use of past experience — in a word, 
with the development of consciousness — it is clear that 
there is not only the possibility of responding in different 
ways to the same stimulus, but also the possibility of re- 
sponding to a far greater number of stimuli, i.e., to more 
complicated and varying situations than the instincts equip 
us for dealing with adequately. When the instincts prove 
sufficient for conserving the vital interests of the organism, 
the environment is quite simple and practically unchang- 
ing. The conscious and self-directing organism can live 
and move successfully in a larger, more varied and change- 
ful world. The more the consciousness is developed, the 
larger, more varied and changeable becomes the world in 
which it is possible to live with satisfaction; and it is hard 
to set any limits in our imagination to this possible develop- 
ment. 

It would seem, then, that the function of consciousness is 
to enable the organism to adapt itself to a complex and 
variable environment. Unquestionably it does this ; but this 
function may be so represented as to carry the implication 
that consciousness is simply and only a serviceable instru- 
ment of the living organism, which it enables to survive 
longer. But does this not " place the cart before the 
horse " ? Is consciousness subordinate to the animal or- 
ganism ? I should prefer to say, and it seems to be in accord 
with all the facts, that consciousness is a higher form or 
manifestation of life, and that on this higher level the liv- 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT II 

ing being can survive and find satisfaction in a larger 
world — is in correspondence with a wider, more varied and 
variable environment, and can develop itself indefinitely in 
such an environment. It is life become luminous and, as it 
becomes luminous, dominating and controlling its environ- 
ment. Consciousness marks the shifting of supremacy from 
the environment to the living being. Life below the con- 
scious level is subject to external conditions; can only 
adapt itself to those conditions; and that only within nar- 
row limits. As it rises to the level of consciousness it in- 
creases its power to adapt itself to those conditions ; but its 
increased adaptability to environment is less signficant 
than the fact that as it becomes conscious it acquires the 
power to adapt the environment to itself and make external 
conditions and forces promote its ends. Increasing con- 
sciousness is an increasing conquest of environment. Its 
advent means the increased adaptability of the organism; 
but it means also that the adaptability has become creative. 
This interpretation of the advent of consciousness in the 
scheme of life is manifestly correct from the point- of 
view of science, and is of the utmost significance for phi- 
losophy. But into that we may not go. 

V. In connection with the meaning and function of 
consciousness it is important to consider habit. When an 
act has once been performed it is easier to do a second time, 
and with each repetition is easier still. The ease with which 
it is done does not increase uniformly ; there is a certain 
rhythm, or tendency to rhythm, in the formation of a habit. 
But the general trend is toward increasing ease. As, with 
repetition, the ease increases the act requires less conscious- 
ness in its performance. Gradually the performance drops 
below the level of clear consciousness and finally, perhaps, 
below the level of consciousness altogether. It becomes 
automatic, in a sense ; " it does itself." The explanation 
usually given is the formation of neural pathways through 
which the impulse discharges — i.e., the impulse as it passes 
through a series of nerve cells tends to form connections be- 



12 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tween them, meeting and overcoming at first a certain resist- 
ance; but the connection between the cells becomes more 
firmly established with every passage of the impulse over 
that track, and so the resistance becomes less and less until 
after a while it practically ceases. As the connections are 
more securely fixed and the resistance declines, conscious- 
ness disappears. After a time the impulse passes through, 
almost automatically, along this line of no resistance. 
Doubtless this is as nearly as we can describe the process. 
It leaves much to be desired in the way of explanation. 
The existence of so many established connections or " path- 
ways " involving, it would seem, the same nervous elements 
it rather difficult to conceive; but as yet no other hypothe- 
sis so plausible has been suggested. We are not concerned, 
however, with the physiological basis but only with the great 
significance of the fact of habit. There is no capability of 
the organism of greater practical importance than this. 
The reflexes and instincts represent the individual life as or- 
ganized at birth; the habits represent the life as organ- 
ized under the control of consciousness. As pointed 
out above, the habits may modify the strength of the in- 
stincts, and, possibly, in some small measure, of the reflexes 
also, though the reflexes and instincts are not thereby elim- 
inated. The habits are superimposed upon them, and act 
as organized reinforcements or inhibitions of them. One 
may, therefore, through the formation of habits organize 
his life to an almost unlimited extent. The true psycholo- 
gist will not deny that new impartations of life may be 
made to the individual life from the psychical universe; 
but such impartations will in some way be conditioned by 
the adaptation of the individual life to that part of its envir- 
onment, and the organization of these newly imparted im- 
pulses or forces w T ill be subject to the law of habit-formation, 
and the formation of habits takes place under the control of 
consciousness. When once the habit is thoroughly estab- 
lished, consciousness is not concerned with it longer, except 
when the performance of its characteristic act is interfered 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 13 

with or when there is, for some reason, a voluntary effort to 
change it. The same is true not only with reference to 
habits of action but with reference to habits of thought and 
feeling also. It holds as to the whole mass of habitual proc- 
esses built up in the experience of the human personality and 
constituting the personal character. 

In this connection we may note a distinction between the 
animal and the human organism which is interesting, if not 
of particular significance, for our specific purpose. It is a 
notable fact that the human infant is born with a nervous 
system only partially organized. In this respect it is 
broadly distinguished from the young of other species. 
They are born with a nervous system already organized 
so completely and fixedly that only slight modifications of 
it can be effected through experience. But the human child 
has a brain mass which to a large extent is without organ- 
ization and waiting to be organized in personal experience; 
and, as we have seen, the organization with which it be- 
gins its career is less fixed and definite than is the case with 
animals of lower orders. Now, this looser instinctive or- 
ganization means that the nervous co-ordinations, forming 
the so-called " neural pathways "as given at birth, are not 
so thoroughly established and that, therefore, the impulses 
do not pass through to motor expression so free from re- 
sistance; hence the instinctive reactions of the human 
species involve more consciousness than those of the sub- 
human. But the difference in this respect appears most 
notably in the process of organizing the unorganized mass 
of nervous substance. This is, throughout, a process of 
habit-formation. But habits when formed have not the 
fixedness of the instincts. They are more easily inhibited, 
more readily modified, and in a life of varied experiences 
are undergoing continual change. We can see, then, that 
consciousness is a very much larger factor in the life of 
man than in the life of the lower animal. The human 
consciousness is clearer, more intense, more definite, larger 
in volume, if the expression may be allowed, than the animal 



14 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

consciousness. Human experience is far more luminous. 
We often make the mistake of reading into the actions of 
the beasts the measure of consciousness we ourselves pos- 
sess. It is, perhaps, a fortunate error and leads to the cul- 
tivation of a larger sympathy with animals and to a more 
humane treatment of them. But it is also fortunate for 
the beasts that they do not have the measure of conscious- 
ness that man has, else the life they must of necessity live 
would be intolerable. Their consciousness in its sensa- 
tional, ideational and emotional factors must be exceedingly 
dim, and as the lower end of the scale of life is approached, 
it is a question whether consciousness in any clearly defined 
sense of the term can be attributed to them. As we go 
down the ranks of living things consciousness must ap- 
proximate the zero point. 

But, though the human species is marked off sharply from 
the brute world by the degree of consciousness, we must not 
assume that all men have the same measure of this inward 
light. The more highly developed the man is, the wider the 
range of his experience, the larger the fund of his ideas, the 
more luminous will his consciousness be. Especially is this 
true of the man who lives in a varied and changeful environ- 
ment. We have seen that consciousness is developed as a 
function of adaptation to changes in the environment for 
which the instincts are not adequate. But even an environ- 
ment so complex and variable that the instincts will not suf- 
fice may, however, be comparatively simple, stable and uni- 
form, so that the formation of a number of habits may 
furnish a supplement which will be approximately adequate. 
In such a relatively simple and uniform environment life 
becomes " rutty." It moves along in the same channels 
from day to day, month to month, perhaps from year to 
year, with comparatively few unusual events to disturb its 
even tenor. Habitual modes of doing things become deeply 
ingrained. The consciousness of persons so situated be- 
comes lax. They go through the daily routine in a mental 
state half dream-like, which is only now and then inter- 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 1 5 

rupted by flashes of more intense wakefulness occasioned by 
the rare occurrences which call for more alert consciousness ; 
and in these extraordinary moments their consciousness is 
likely to be confused and flustered rather than alert in the 
proper sense of the word. There is no question that 
the character of the environment to which one must adjust 
himself has very much to do with the normal state of his 
consciousness. It may be straining the word, but it would 
not be far from the truth to say that a person living in a 
simple and monotonous environment forms a " habit " of 
dim and misty consciousness, and vice versa. In the 
changeful environment mental alertness in considerable 
measure is required in order to survive, certainly in order to 
prosper; and under such conditions the necessity of con- 
tinually readjusting oneself prevents many of the habits of 
life from becoming so fixed as they do in relatively un- 
changing surroundings; but since as a rule the number of 
activities in which individuals engage in such complex 
surroundings is increased, the habits formed, while more 
often changed, are more numerous. 

Now, it seems to be a law of social development that 
the environment in which men normally live becomes more 
complex and changeful from generation to generation. 
This being true, the inevitable inference is that, on the aver- 
age and normally, the human consciousness rises in clear- 
ness, intensity, alertness from age to age, and reason be- 
comes an ever larger and more dominant factor in the lives 
of men. The conditions of life become more stimulating; 
life becomes more dynamic; consciousness becomes more 
intense, luminous, regnant; a greater demand is made upon 
the self-directing capacity of the personality. 

If the foregoing statements are accepted, it would seem 
to be an inevitable conclusion that the function of persuasion 
assumes greater and greater importance in human life with 
each upward advance. It is a fact which can hardly fail to 
arrest attention that the arts of persuasion develop with the 
progress of society. Oratory is born with liberty and dies 



l6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

with it. As men become more free, more consciously self- 
directing, the appeal to their rational nature and through 
that to their emotions becomes more appropriate and more 
necessary if one seeks to influence their action, On the 
lower levels of development custom and physical force are 
the prevailing means of influencing the actions of men; in 
the later stages they lose their effectiveness, and a larger 
use must be made of appeals to rational and moral consid- 
erations. Literature becomes relatively more important; 
but this does not mean that public speech declines in power. 
It must, however, follow the general trend and become 
more rational, depending less upon the direct stimulation of 
the basal instincts, crude emotions and fixed prejudices, and 
more upon the excitation of the higher feelings by the pres- 
entation of ideas. Preaching should keep pace with this 
movement, and if it does, the sphere of its usefulness will 
not contract but expand. If it be true — and at most it 
seems to be true only in a relative sense — that preaching is 
declining in power, the explanation can only be found in the 
defective character of the preaching. Certainly the oppor- 
tunities for influencing the actions of men by moral suasion 
become larger and more various ; and if preachers find their 
power failing, it only emphasizes their duty better to adapt 
their noble function to the changing conditions of human 
life. 

VI. This chapter should not be closed without some ref- 
erence to the perplexing problem of the subconscious, al- 
though it has no very direct bearing upon the subject of 
preaching. Coe * has given a good summary of the the- 
ories of the subconscious as follows : " Three types of 
theory exist: (i) The neural theory, which holds that all 
deliverances called subconscious are due to restimulation 
of brain tracts that have been organized in a particular 
way through previous experiences of the individual. Ac- 
cording to this view, there is no subconscious elaboration or 
ripening, but only plain reproduction. (2) The dissocia- 

1 " The Psychology of Religion," pp. 202-3. 



GENERAL CONTROLS OF CONDUCT 17 

tion theory, which, starting with the fact that the field of at- 
tention includes a penumbra as well as a focus, holds that 
the penumbral items of experience can be combined and 
elaborated while remaining within the penumbra, and thus, 
when the focus of attention shifts to them, can appear as 
ready made. (3) The theory of a detached subconscious- 
ness. This phrase was devised, I believe, by a persistent 
critic of the theory, the late Professor Pierce. It covers all 
views that assert that each of us has a ' double ' or second- 
ary self, an understratum of psychic existence, possessed 
of powers and character of its own that outrun and are sep- 
arate from the ordinary. Here belongs the notion, wide- 
spread of late, that God is present to us as this substratum 
of our self or as an obscure second self." 

There is no question that there is a large element of 
truth in the first and second types of theory. There is more 
question as to the third. The psychologists are rather shy 
of this hypothesis, which is due to the fact that, in the 
nature of the case, it is not possible scientifically either to es- 
tablish or disprove it. It belongs rather to the realm of 
philosophy than to that of psychology. But there is no 
good reason to doubt that at least it points in the direction of 
a truth. The individual personality, while it has a certain 
separateness, is rooted in the universe. The human organ- 
ism is both psychical and physical ; and there is no good rea- 
son to suppose that in this two-fold constitution it is essen- 
tially different from the universe in which it is rooted. So 
far as we can see, the universe, as at present constituted, 
is also psycho-physical, whatever may be one's metaphysical 
theory as to the ultimate priority of the psychical or physi- 
cal. As an organism of this general type, the individual is 
somehow mysteriously dove-tailed into the universal order. 
From that part of the universe which we know as physical 
come flowing into the physical organism of man below the 
level of consciousness elements and influences which pro- 
foundly influence this aspect of his being. There is no good 
reason to doubt that likewise from that part of the universe 



l8 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

which we call psychical there flow into the psychical organ- 
ism of man below the level of consciousness impulses and 
influences that extensively modify this aspect of his being, 
and sometimes break into the realm of his conscious ex- 
perience. But here we have manifestly passed over the 
line that separates psychology from philosophy; for while 
there are psychological facts that give hints and intimations 
pointing in the direction of this conclusion, psychology 
itself cannot make any authoritative assertions on the sub- 
ject. We dwell upon it here in order to emphasize two cau- 
tions. First, the psychologist, because he cannot make a 
scientific examination of the metaphysical roots of the human 
personality, ought not to treat the matter contemptuously, 
as one about which an intelligent opinion cannot be formed. 
Second, the religious philosophers should not make too free 
a use of this mysterious aspect of life as a means of ex- 
plaining difficulties and solving problems ; should not use 
the subconscious as a convenient " city of refuge " when 
they find themselves in trouble. The proper attitude with 
respect to this problematical phase of human experience is 
one of scientific reserve, if it may be so expressed. It indi- 
cates neither safe judgment nor a disinterested love of truth 
to jump to conclusions when there are so few surely at- 
tested facts and when their proper interpretation is so un- 
certain. It is better to confess frankly the limitations of 
our knowledge and tread warily upon the brink of the sub- 
terranean river which flows through the cavernous depths 
of our psychic life. Across its waters our feeble torches 
cast but flickering lights and into its dark depths our vision 
penetrates hardly at all. 



CHAPTER II 

MENTAL IMAGES 

What is a mental image? The question is a difficult 
one. It seems to be a copy or a likeness of something; but 
of what is it a copy? The common notion is that it is a 
copy or likeness of something which is external to the mind 
and exists apart from the mind. But if we think more 
carefully about it this conception of the image seems less 
satisfactory. If it can legitimately be called a likeness at 
all, it must be a likeness of an object as experienced, and not 
as it exists apart from experience. Indeed, are we justified 
in saying that psychic and physical phenomena resemble one 
another ? It would seem that the two orders of phenomena 
are so entirely disparate that a resemblance of a fact in one 
series to an object in the other is out of the question — un- 
less, indeed, we accepted some form of idealism, or the ex- 
treme view that the reality known is constituted in the 
act of knowing. Those who believe in the thoroughgoing 
dualism of mind and matter should hesitate to say that the 
image resembles the object. How can a conscious process, 
which is supposed to have no spatial character at all, be like 
an external, extended, space-filling object? What prop- 
erties have they in common? It would seem that they are 
fundamentally and absolutely unlike; that there is no com- 
mon term and no possibility of comparing them. There is no 
way for the mind to get outside itself and compare its own 
conscious process, the image, with the object as a thing 
wholly apart from consciousness. What is that external 
world, as existing wholly apart from consciousness, and 
what is it like ? We have no means of knowing. The ques- 

19 



20 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tion brings us up squarely against a stone wall beyond 
which we cannot go. It plunges us into the old problem 
which has been the philosophical puzzle of the ages. Really 
we can only compare states of consciousness with one an- 
other. All that we can or need say here is that the mental 
image is constituted in experience. It is the resultant of the 
reaction of the conscious organism to a stimulus — perhaps 
is that reaction itself — and by it the organism is enabled 
to recognize the same stimulus when it recurs. In the ex- 
perience some modification of the brain substance seems to 
occur, though it is quite difficult to conceive of the exact 
nature of this modification. However, it seems clear that 
the modification of the cellular structure of the brain can 
not be said to be the image, because the latter is a phase of 
consciousness, and the former is supposed to continue to 
exist during a lapse of consciousness ; but it is the physical 
basis, or counterpart, or coefficient of the psychic fact. In 
brief, then, we may define a mental image as a conscious 
copy of an experience. Further than this we cannot go 
in the inquiry as to the nature of the image without passing 
out of the territory of psychology proper into that of the 
theory of knowledge. 

I. Forms of Imagery. There is a form of imagery cor- 
responding to each of the modes of sensation — visual, 
auditory tactual, gustatory, olfactory, kinesthetic, etc. A 
perfectly normal person would be able to form mental images 
corresponding to all these forms of experience; and, there- 
fore, the inner world of images should be a psychic counter- 
part oi the whole environment as experienced in sensation. 
But the perfectly normal mind is probably not in existence. 
As a matter of fact persons differ greatly in their capac- 
ity for the several forms of imagery. Some have little 
capacity, or but a rudimentary one, for visual images, while 
having a strong faculty for auditory or other forms; or 
vice versa. Again, those who are endowed with an excel- 
lent capacity for visual images may be able to see with the 
eye of the mind only still objects, while others can readily 



MENTAL IMAGES 21 

visualize objects in motion. Here, for instance, is a man's 
testimony of his memory of a great fire. He heard the 
bells, the tramp of feet upon the side-walk, his own puffing 
and blowing and that of others running with him to the fire, 
the noise of cracking and breaking glass, the roar of the 
blaze, the excited voices of the crowd ; but had no distinct 
visual image of the fire itself. 1 All sorts of variations oc- 
cur. Some minds revel in images of colour, while some are 
almost colour blank ; others are especially rich in images of 
form, etc., etc. By far the greater number of people have 
the capacity for visual imagery. Indeed, only a very small 
per cent, seem to be destitute of it, if any are absolutely so ; 
and the capacity for no other form of imagery is so gen- 
erally possessed, a fact which indicates that the eye is the 
most serviceable of all the sense-functions. However, 
those who are relatively destitute of the capacity for visual 
imagery are by their very numbers of sufficient importance 
to receive consideration from public speakers. A speaker 
who relies mainly upon visual imagery for the expression 
of his thought is likely always to fail adequately to convey 
his meaning to a considerable proportion of his audience; 
if he is himself deficient in visual imagery, his efficiency as 
a public speaker will be most seriously curtailed. It be- 
hooves every public speaker to study his own capacity for 
every form of imagery, so that he may not be partially in- 
sulated, so to speak, from some of his hearers. 

It is not easy to account for these curious variations in 
the capacity for the several forms of imagery. The ab- 
sence of the capacity for any particular form does not indi- 
cate that the person is destitute of the corresponding sense. 
At any rate, the external organs of the sense are present 
and seem active. But that is not by any means a sure indi- 
cation that the man is really getting his experience in terms 
of that sense. The non-visualist, for instance, seems to 
be using his eyes in ordinary experience ; why can he not 
recall his experience in terms of vision? Probably it in- 

1 Scott's " Psychology of Public Speaking," p. 30. 



22 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

dicates some obscure defect in the nervous organization by 
reason of which the visual impression, though it may be to 
some extent momentarily serviceable, is not definite and 
deep enough to be recalled. 

In passing it is interesting to note the fact that the char- 
acteristic form of one's mental imagery has an important in- 
fluence upon his mental processes and modes of utterance. 
The visualist is likely to be slow and deliberate in speech, 
while the speaker who uses mainly or largely auditory or 
kinesthetic images is likely to be more rapid. And since vis- 
ual images usually have greater distinctiveness and vividness 
than others — or perhaps it is better to say, possess these 
qualities in greater degree for most minds — the speaker 
who is particularly strong in this imaginal form is likely 
not only to be more deliberate in manner and utterance, but 
also to be regarded as clearer in statement; and, since the 
logical arrangement of ideas is always spatially conceived, 
he is more likely to be a " logical speaker." The jumbling 
of images is due to the fact that they are not clearly visu- 
alized, and illogical arrangement is due to the same defect 
of imagination. 

II. Recall of the image. It is as difficult to understand 
how the image, when once it has passed out of conscious- 
ness, can be recalled, or revived, or reconstituted, as it is to 
conceive of its essential nature. The image, strictly speak- 
ing, seems to cease to be. The physical counterpart, or co- 
efficient, the brain modification, seems to persist; the image 
itself, however, as a modification or phase of consciousness, 
disappears. But under proper conditions it reappears ; 
though it is more accurate to say that another image like it 
appears on the basis of the impression on the nerve-sub- 
stance, which probably has persisted. The " revived " or 
" recalled " image is a new fact or phase of consciousness ; 
and cannot, therefore, be identical with the original one. If 
they are thought of as identical, the implication is that the 
image is a distinct, substantive entity which disappears from 
consciousness for a time and reappears, without having 



MENTAL IMAGES 23 

ceased to be. But such a notion is untenable, according to 
modern conceptions of mental processes. The image is a 
fact, a functioning of consciousness, and when it disappears 
it has by the very definition ceased to be. The conscious- 
ness is no longer functioning that way. If the image is " re- 
called," where has it been in the meantime? A very ques- 
tionable metaphysic underlies this terminology. But these 
terms are in such common use and it is so difficult to dis- 
pense with them without substituting for them cumbersome 
and awkward phrases, that I shall continue, after entering 
the foregoing caveat, to make use of them. 

1. Conditions of recall. The possibility of recalling the 
image after its disappearance is conditioned in several ways. 
First, an impression, if it is not reinforced by repeated ex- 
periences or by repeated revivals of the image, tends to fade 
with the lapse of time. Hence, as a rule, the difficulty of 
recalling an image increases with time. Second, the impres- 
sion, which is supposed to be made upon the brain, must be 
strong enough to effect in the brain cells a modification of 
sufficient depth not to be totally effaced by succeeding im- 
pressions. There are many facts which seem to show that 
subsequent impressions do modify and weaken preceding 
ones. As a result the power to recall any image decreases 
with the number and strength of the impressions made sub- 
sequently. An apparent exception to this rule is seen in the 
relative ease with which old persons recall the experiences 
of early life. But the exception is only apparent. We must 
remember that, other things being equal, the impressions 
made early in life are written more deeply into the organiza- 
tion of the brain than those made later in life. Relatively 
speaking, the earlier impressions find the ground unoc- 
cupied, and in a certain measure pre-empt it; and the or- 
ganism is then more resilient and responsive and the ex- 
periences, therefore, more intense and vivid. When, there- 
fore, the disorganization of the brain takes place in age, the 
impressions of later years, not being so deeply organized 
in the nervous constitution as those of youth, go first. 



24 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

Strictly speaking, this is a phenomenon of the disorganiza- 
tion rather than of the organization of the mind. Third, the 
impressions received when the mind is alert and reacts with 
energy upon the stimuli will survive longer in their integrity 
than those which are received in moments of mental relaxa- 
tion. Some minds do not habitually react with vigour, and 
do not therefore have much retentiveness. Some react with 
much more vigour to certain classes of stimuli than to others, 
and their retentiveness varies accordingly. A mind that is 
habitually lax and slothful finds it especially difficult to re- 
vive distinct and definite images of experience. Its mental 
reproductions of experience are a sort of blur. Very often, 
certainly, in cases of poor recollection the fault is to be 
found in the character of the original experience. There 
was not sufficient alertness ; the mental reaction upon the 
stimulus was not vigorous; the impression upon the brain 
was indistinct and indefinite. Such an experience it is im- 
possible to revive clearly because the experience itself lacked 
clearness. We may state it as a law that the vividness of the 
recalled experience will vary with the vividness of the orig- 
inal experience. It cannot be too much emphasized that in 
cases of bad memory the deficiency in all probability is in the 
state of the attention in the original experience. Because of 
failure here many public speakers find themselves deficient 
in vivid mental images and effective illustrative material. 
Fourth, each impression seems to be modified by, or in some 
measure to blend with, or somehow to be linked up with 
other impressions, both those which precede and those which 
follow it. It may be true, therefore, that no impression 
once definitely made is entirely lost from the brain, except 
by the process of disorganization referred to above. It 
may, however, survive not as a distinct impression, the 
physical basis for a revival of a distinguishable individual 
image, but as a factor in a total composite impression. 
This linking of impressions with one another and their 
reciprocal modification is doubtless the physical counterpart 
of the " association of ideas," and of the formation of con- 



MENTAL IMAGES 25 

cepts and standards, to which more detailed reference will 
be made later. Certainly the organization of the images 
into logical wholes facilitates their revival; in fact, one 
might say that the facility with which an image can be re- 
vived is in proportion to the number of relations established 
between it and other images. 

2. Inexactness of the recalled image. The revival of a 
previous experience in the form of an image is never abso- 
lutely exact. It usually is sufficiently so to serve as a guide 
to further experience, and that is its function. If it did not 
resemble the original experience of all, or enough to in- 
sure recognition, it would be useless. Ordinarily our mental 
images serve well enough our practical purposes; but it is 
certain that all the details of the original experience in their 
precise relations and proportions are never reproduced. 
This is obviously due to the fact that each impression made 
upon the brain is in some measure modified both by the pre- 
ceding and succeeding ones. Wundt says in speaking of 
memory images : " Memory images and sense perceptions 
differ, not only in quality and intensity, but most emphatic- 
ally in their elementary composition. . . . The incomplete- 
ness of the memory idea is much more characteristic than 
the small intensity of its elements. For example, when I 
remember an acquaintance, the image I have of his face and 
figure are not mere obscure reproductions of what I have 
in consciousness when I look directly at him, but most of 
the features do not exist at all in the reproduced ideas. Con- 
nected with the few ideational elements which are really 
present . . . are certain factors added through contiguity 
and certain complications, such as the environments in 
which I saw my acquanintance, his name, and finally, and 
more especially, certain affective elements which were 
present at the meeting." x Another eminent psychologist 
remarks that besides the loss in sensuous liveliness " there 
take place in apparently the most perfect reproduction 
slight transformations of the content. Individual ele- 

!" Outlines of Psychology" (trans, by Judd), p. 282. 



26 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ments appear changed in form; original constituents of the 
sensation are left out, and some which were originally not 
there are added. To what extent this process goes on in 
the consciously impressed perceptual image and how inex- 
act the reproduction is as against the requirement of abso- 
lute agreement " 1 recent investigations have strikingly dem- 
onstrated. Indeed such an exact reproduction would not be 
consistent with the practical purpose of the image. It 
would violate the law of mental economy. Were it so, the 
memory would soon be burdened with a mass of useless and 
therefore meaningless details, which would gradually impede 
action until the mental life would be paralyzed by a plethora 
of valueless material. 

Selection is the characteristic of the action of intelligence. 
From the countless number of details of actual experience 
it selects for reproduction in images and organization in 
memory those which seem to be worth while, i.e., which 
seem to be useful in the further ordering of experience. In 
each act of reproduction there is present a controlling inter- 
est which determines the selection of details. This is true, 
as we have just seen, in involuntary, and is especially true in 
voluntary, reproduction. This holds good of the professional 
historian as well as of the story-teller, though in the two 
cases the interest is different. With the historian that inter- 
est is objective truth. If he is true to his proper task, he is 
aiming to reproduce past events in their actual relations 
and significance, not to prove a proposition or to produce a 
given effect upon his reader or hearer. But he can not 
hope to reproduce experience as it took place in detail; he 
must select, because it is practically impossible to reproduce 
experience in all its details, and if it were practicable it 
would be of no value even for his objective purpose, which is 
to gather up facts and give a literary reproduction of them 
in their significant relations, so that they may serve as a 
guide in further social action. He therefore leaves out all 
that is not necessary to give the significant occurrences of the 

1 Elsenhans, " Lehrbuch der Psychologie/' p. 169. 



MENTAL IMAGES 2*J 

past their setting in a true context. He selects and or- 
ganizes his material with that object in view. In doing this 
he is of necessity subject to the general laws and the indi- 
vidual peculiarities of his own mind, which are inevitably 
reflected in his investigations and formulations ; and so in a 
very real sense historical narration is subjectively condi- 
tioned. Since, however, the historian's aim is to discover 
and relate the significant facts of past social experience and 
thus to act as an organ of social memory, his interest must 
be objective. The moment any personal interest of his, such 
as the desire to advance the fortunes of a political party or 
to maintain a particular theory, influences his selection and 
interpretation of materials, that moment and to that extent, 
his work is vitiated as history. In the narration of the or- 
ator it is different. His interest is more subjective, and 
legitimately so. Whatever his purpose may be, it looks 
beyond merely a true reproduction of past experience; he 
aims at producing some more or less definite and immedi- 
ate effects upon his hearers, to persuade them of the correct- 
ness of his opinions and to evoke in them an emotional re- 
sponse of some sort. Naturally, therefore, he handles his 
material with a certain freedom which is not permissible to 
the historian. 

Whether the story-teller is telling an imaginary story or 
narrating an event, it is certain that he will be guided in the 
selection of details by the subjective purpose dominant at 
the moment. Moreover, he tells the story as a rule when in 
a state of unusual feeling. Under the influence of high 
feeling every experience, whether actual or representative, 
is materially different from what it would be otherwise. In 
the first place, the feeling is a powerful selective influence 
determining what details of the present occurrence or of the 
revived image will receive attention ; second, the phases of 
the experience which are thus brought into the focus of at- 
tention are exaggerated, are felt to be greater, more im- 
portant than they normally are, and this very exaggeration 
of them tends to exclude from consciousness other phases 



28 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

of the experience; third, when under high feeling the mind 
is always uncritical and fails to discriminate between the 
details of this particular experience and the details of other 
experiences which may have become associated, and are 
likely to be revived, with it. These modifications are 
likely to take place with every narration of the story. It 
is easy, therefore, to see how a story often retold, especially 
when retold under the stress of high feeling, comes to lose 
almost all resemblance to the truth, and this without any 
intention on the part of the speaker to pervert the truth. 
As to the matter of veracity in such cases, a recent writer 
says i 1 "In creative imagination the creator is aware of 
the modification of the content. Along with the rest of the 
content he has the peculiar factor which we call newness, or 
novelty. He is aware that his content is a new combination. 
But in the general modification of content which we men- 
tioned above, the person is less apt to be aware of the 
changes. The fisherman who magnifies into a three- 
pounder the minnow which escaped ; the student who relates 
the hard-luck story of how he ' failed ' in examination 
through no fault of his scholarship ; are in many cases quite 
sincere and base their tales on imagined content which has 
undergone progressive improvement since it was experienced 
in perception." 

This is a matter of great importance to the preacher 
especially. The spirit of truth, of reality, should be the 
very atmosphere in which his discourse moves. He is 
especially given to the relation of stories of his own experi- 
ence, or that of others, as illustrative matter ; and the criti- 
cism is often heard that the stories told in sermons are in- 
credible, or at least sufficiently lacking in verisimilitude to 
produce a most disagreeable and hurtful impression upon 
those who listen critically. Those whom he- succeeds in 
sweeping along on the wave of his own emotion will be as 
uncritical in hearing as he is in narrating the incident; but 
the calmer and more careful hearers can not but be repelled. 

1 Dunlap, " A System of Psychology," pp. 162-3. 



MENTAL IMAGES 29 

More than once has the writer heard harsh judgments 
passed upon preachers by the hard-headed — but not neces- 
sarily the hard-hearted — hearers who did not understand 
the psychology of public speaking. Such hearers, therefore, 
sometimes attribute to the preacher deliberate carelessness 
as to the truth — a charge which in some instances may 
not be altogether undeserved. But if the great majority of 
preachers may on scientific grounds be acquitted of the 
charge of the deliberate perversion of the truth in such 
cases, they should not be excused from the duty of under- 
standing the psychological processes involved and of avoid- 
ing the abuses which discredit both their message and their 
personal integrity. " That man lies," said a sturdy, hon- 
est man to me, after he had heard an impassioned evange- 
list tell some remarkable stories without any apparent con- 
sciousness that he was straining the credulity of his audi- 
ence. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but that fact 
hardly gives currency as actual facts to stories that bear the 
obvious evidences of having been shaped up for the occa- 
sion. 

III. These mental images are our intellectual stock-in- 
trade. They are, so to speak, the materials of mental life. 
It is maintained by some psychologists that it is possible to 
think without images ; but it is an open issue in psychology, 
and opinions as to the question should not be dogmatically ex- 
pressed. It is a question of fact and cannot be determined 
on a priori grounds. The presumption, however, seems to 
me to be clearly against the contention, and the arguments 
for it seem far from conclusive. A process of thinking may 
take place without any images of the things of the original 
experience appearing definitely in consciousness ; but a care- 
ful scrutiny of consciousness in such cases will doubtless 
discover that there are images of some sort present — per- 
haps faint traces of images in which the original experi- 
ence is representatively present; or if not, images at least 
of words with the accompanying " feeling " that they can at 
will be translated into the distinct images of the experience ; 



30 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

and the probable explanation of this "feeling " is that there 
is a nascent reproduction of the image in connection with 
the words — a reproduction which is too inchoate and in- 
definite to get into clear consciousness, but is sufficient to 
surround the words with a certain shadow of the imagery. 
If there is no other imagery present except that of the 
words, then the original experience has a second or third 
hand representation, so to speak, in that. 

The original experience may, then, be represented, first, 
by particular concrete images; though, as said above, they 
never represent the experience without modification. Or, 
second, it may be represented by generic images, concepts, 
in which many concrete images have been moulded together 
into a sort of type. But all the qualities or marks of the 
concept are rarely, if ever, in consciousness at once. 
Usually — if not always — certain of the qualities or marks 
which belong to it are in consciousness doing service for it 
and performing its function of representing the original 
experience. Or, third, the original experience may be rep- 
resented only by the word-images, which are mere signs of 
concepts and may be used in the economy of mental life as a 
substitute for the concepts, into which they are always con- 
sciously convertible. Images of some sort, it seems, there 
must be if conscious mental processes are to go on. This 
seems to me to be true even when we are thinking abstract 
relations. Are they not always thought in spatial terms? 
If I am thinking the relations represented by the preposi- 
tions — such as " by," " to," " from," " in," etc. — there are 
corresponding spatial images of location or direction in my 
mind. And so it may be accepted that we think in images 
and only in images, of some sort or other. 

By means of these images we not only retain or revive the 
past, but in terms of them alone can we forecast the future. 
As they are reconstituted in consciousness they bring with 
them, usually in proportion to the adequacy with which they 
perform their representative function, the emotional colour- 
ing of the original experience. It is by their means, there- 



MENTAL IMAGES 31 

fore, that the continuity of our conscious life is maintained 
and we are able to connect the future with the past. By 
them we realize our personal identity through the years, and 
can link those years together with a purpose. They are 
the materials out of which we form our plans. With them 
we construct our ideal worlds and build our systems of phi- 
losophy. As already indicated, language is only a system of 
conventional signs whose function is to represent them in 
their relations and combinations; and language is meaning- 
less unless it is the conscious bearer of this precious freight, 
i.e., unless the words are at least accompanied by the "feel- 
ing " that they can, when there is need for it, call into con- 
sciousness the images for which they stand. That royal 
function of mind, imagination, is absolutely limited in every 
phase of its task of guiding life into larger and larger fields of 
experience by the number, range, variety, distinctiveness and 
vividness of these images. Whatsoever sphere of activity a 
man is engaged in, his efficiency will depend upon the range 
of his experience and upon his ability to make an effective 
use of it; and this is equivalent to saying, will depend upon 
the number and variety of relevant images in his mind, their 
distinctiveness, their vividness and their proper correlation 
with one another. This is no more true of the poet or the 
orator than it is of the man of action. The impractical vis- 
ionary is usually supposed to be a man " of too much imag- 
ination " ; but his trouble is deficiency rather than excess of 
imagination. It may be that he has too few images or a too 
limited variety, i.e., his experience may be too narrow. Or 
it may be that his mental images are badly correlated with 
one another. As he uses these images to construct his 
practical ideal and to lay out his plans for its realization, 
their number, variety, vividness and organization are insuf- 
ficient to enable him to forecast his enterprise in all its 
essential elements, to " see " it in mental vision in proper re- 
lation to all its essential conditions. Hence his failure. 
The trouble is that he sees too little, not too much. There 
are difficulties which he does not foresee, relations and cir- 



32 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

cumstances he does not anticipate ; and upon the unforeseen 
his plans are shipwrecked. Therefore, it is not strictly ac- 
curate to call him " visionary." He invariably comes, in the 
execution of his undertakings, upon conditions which he did 
not see in advance and which are vitally important; and for 
that reason he is ineffective. 

The bearing of what has been said upon the quality of 
literary style, spoken or written, is obvious. The public 
speaker especially needs to use many particular, definite, 
vivid images; but his thought must, or at least should, be 
logical, i.e., his mental images should be properly organized. 
As the images are organized, they assume a more general, 
schematic character, become concepts ; and as the process of 
organization goes on to higher and higher stages, these 
concepts become more and more abstract, and the style loses 
proportionately its realistic, sensuous, picturesque character. 
A study of the evolution of language brings out with strik- 
ing force the fact that language grows more abstract and 
mental imagery less concrete and sensuous with the general 
advance of culture. In the more primitive languages there 
is a separate word or form of a word for almost every 
simple specific act or movement and every object; while now 
our most specific words usually stand for classes rather 
than for strictly individual things. 1 It is, in fact, this gen- 
eral tendency which sometimes leads to the belief that poetry 
declines with the advance of scientific knowledge. But 
there are compensations. If with the growth and organiza- 
tion of knowledge there is a tendency towards wider and 
wider generalization and the emptying of words of con- 
crete reference, there is reason to believe that in some direc- 
tions at least there has been a great increase in the fineness 
of sense discriminations. There has doubtless been a loss 
in other directions. But we have good evidence that the 
modern man is, in the appreciation of shades of colour in 

1 For an interesting discussion of this characteristic of primitive 
language see " Les Fonctions Mental dans Les Societes Inferieure," 
by Levy-Bruhl, pp. 131-159. 



MENTAL IMAGES 33 

particular, vastly superior to men in lower stages of de- 
velopment ; at any rate, the freer use of colour-terms by mod- 
ern masters of style has done much to compensate for the 
losses in concreteness and vividness in other directions. 
However, the terms for shades of colour appeal more 
strongly to persons of culture — especially esthetic cul- 
ture — than to persons of lower mental grades, as we should 
expect from the fact that colour appreciation seems to have 
grown with the general advance of culture. Such a mastery 
of mental imagery as will give access to the minds of both 
the lower and the higher order is not easy. 

But the public speaker, and especially the preacher, should 
strive to achieve excellence both in the concreteness of his 
imagery and the breadth of his generalizations, so that he 
may make an effective appeal to all grades of culture in his 
audience. For immediate effectiveness he should not fail to 
cultivate the power to recall the whole range of his experi- 
ence in particular, concrete, definite, vivid images ; and this 
means that he should cultivate the habit of close, concen- 
trated, energetic attention as well as varied observation. 
For the fact cannot be too much insisted on that if the 
images are distinct, definite, clear, vivid, it is because there 
was alert, energetic reaction of the mind in the original ex- 
perience. But for effectiveness of style it is not enough that 
the images be concrete and vivid and abundant; they must 
be correlated. A chaotic stream of vivid images is not ef- 
fective, except under abnormal circumstances. The mind 
of the speaker, and especially is this true of the preacher, 
should not be a chaos but a cosmos; for his objective is not 
a mere aimless play upon the motor impulses of a thought- 
less throng, but the moving of men along definite lines to- 
ward the realization of individual and social ideals which are 
the embodiment of perfect order. 



CHAPTER III 

MENTAL SYSTEMS 

Thinking may be defined as an effort to carry out or 
complete an arrested response to a stimulus by bringing the 
revived images of past experience to bear upon the situation. 
It is an attempt to solve a present problem by means of past 
experience. The problem may be a puzzling practical situ- 
ation, with respect to which one is uncertain what course to 
pursue, and in which, therefore, the response is arrested — 
i.e., a state of things in which the instinctive or habitual re- 
sponse is not adequate. Were the situation an entirely 
familiar one, an instinctive or habitual reaction would be 
sufficient ; there would be no need for thought, and it would 
not take place. " Direct, immediate discharge or expression 
of an impulsive tendency is fatal to thinking. Only when 
the impulse is to some extent checked and thrown back 
upon itself does reflection ensue. . . . Every vital activity 
of any depth and range inevitably meets obstacles in the 
course of its effort to realize itself." x But the problem may 
not be so immediately practical; it may be a problem of 
curiosity, and therefore chiefly of an intellectual character. 
The practical meaning, the proper motor response, may not 
be obvious, or if obvious, may not be immediately required. 
In either kind of a situation the thinking process takes 
place in an effort to answer one or more of the questions : 
What? When? Where? How? Why? These ques- 
tions can only be answered by correlating this situation with 
the rest of experience. In this process our knowledge 
grows ; our experience extends beyond the narrow limits of 

1 Dewey, " How We Think," p. 64. 

34 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 35 

the instinctive, and not only extends but is systematized ; for 
experience can not extend beyond its rudimentary stages, can 
not become varied, rich and adequate to the needs of grow- 
ing life except as new individual experiences are treasured 
up in the organism, represented in mental images, and or- 
ganized into systems. 

I. PROCESSES OF ORGANIZATION 

I. Concepts built up in various fields of experience. As 
pointed out in the preceding chapter, if our images repre- 
sented original experience in all its details, and, if when 
revivedr^pjDeared in the accidental and often haphazard 
order of the original sensations they would often form 
only a heterogeneous multitude, having no relations of prac- 
tical value among themselves, and the very purpose of 
thought would be defeated. They must be sorted out, asso- 
ciated together, fused into types or moulded into concepts 
which represent whole masses of particular and concrete 
experiences, in order that they may become effective tools 
for our use. If when the word " tree " is mentioned there 
were called up all the detailed images of all the trees one's 
eyes had ever rested upon, the consciousness would be 
swamped by a mass of useless particulars. As a matter of 
fact, they are all fused and fashioned into an image which 
represents all of them and is easily recalled and used. As 
one's experience extends, the concept will be found to rep- 
resent a class of objects which at the same time forms part 
of a larger class and divides up into a number of sub-classes. 
For instance, the concept " tree " is found to belong to a 
much larger class of objects, plants or vegetables; and at 
the same time to include a number of varieties of trees. 
Thus the mental organization goes on by a process of 
broader generalization, on the one hand ; and discrimination 
and division on the other. At the same time concepts are 
forming in adjacent fields of experience, and these fields of 
experience are coming to be related to one another. While 
the child is acquiring the notion " tree," he is also forming 



36 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the concepts " bird " and " colour," and many others, and 
will be weaving them into a more or less complex system of 
relations with one another, because they all lie in closely 
adjacent fields of experience, and in his responses to stimuli 
coming from those fields he has almost inevitably connected 
them together. In the meantime he will be building up in 
somewhat widely separated fields of experience other sys- 
tems of ideas. Before long these widely separated fields 
will come to be more or less closely correlated in his mind 
— at first those in which he is most active and which do not 
lie too far apart, and gradually those more remote. 

2. Reflective and unreflective organization. In the be- 
ginning of the construction of one's system of ideas the 
process is unreflective. * It begins, indeed, in the instinctive 
and largely random reactions of the baby. It is continued 
in the more or less accidental generalizations and formula- 
tions of the growing child, who does not realize that he is 
forming concepts of the various kinds of objects that come 
within the range of his experience and that he is relating 
them to one another in a mental system. He is intent only 
upon the satisfaction of his active impulses. With develop- 
ing life his practical ends become more conscious, more 
definite; but the experiences controlled by these practical 
ends continue to be the bases of his correlations of ideas. 
But, while this is true, his rapidly multiplying relations and 
expanding activities are compelling him to deal with more 
and more complex situations, to set for himself more distant 
ends which can be reached only by a longer and more com- 
plicated series of means. Again and again he finds that the 
organization of ideas as it has taken shape in his mind is 
not adequate to guide him in these new and more difficult 
situations. He is forced by his mental embarrassments, by 
his mistakes and failures, to revise and in some measure to 
reconstruct his concepts and the systems into which they 
have been linked. This process involves reflection; though 
at first, of course, it is very partial and uncritical. But it is 

1 See Miller's " Psychology of Thinking," pp. 206-223. 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 37 

likely to become more and more critical and extensive as his 
experience broadens and his activities become more varied 
in the more complex relations of life. The boy that grows 
up on a farm soon comes to have vague notions of the sev- 
eral kinds of animals and tools used and of the several kinds 
of crops raised on the farm. He comes to know about 
horses, cows, pigs, fowls ; plows, wagons, reapers, buggies ; 
wheat, corn, oats, potatoes, etc. And he acquires crude 
notions of their relations to one another, and of the rela- 
tions and functions of the farm as a whole. With the pass- 
ing of the months his concepts of these various objects and 
of their relations to one another become more adequate, 
more definite, more distinct, through actual dealing with 
them. By visits to the neighbouring town he becomes 
vaguely acquainted with other modes of life ; and as he takes 
an increasing share both in raising the products of the farm 
and in marketing them in the town his concept of the farm 
and its relation to the rest of the world is enriched. His 
childish notions are undergoing continuous revision, and 
becoming larger and more complex. His mental system is 
passing through the double process of, first, unreflective 
organization and, second, reflective reorganization as the 
exigencies of his broadening experience require; but it re- 
mains as yet mainly unreflective in character. By and by 
he is sent for education to the agricultural college; and 
there he studies the principles of farming as they have been 
sifted and formulated by experts from the general experi- 
ence of men. He learns the chemical composition of va- 
rious soils and the adaptation of the several kinds of seeds 
to the several kinds of soil, and the most approved methods 
of cultivation and the chemical and biological laws under- 
lying these methods. He sees farming conducted according 
to these principles and critically observes the processes. He 
is instructed as to the relation of agriculture to the general 
economic and cultural order of society. His system of ideas 
relating to that general field of experience has now been re- 
flectively reorganized with approximate thoroughness. He 



38 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

is a scientific farmer. But we need only consider how 
few farmers — indeed, how few men in any walk of life — 
receive so thorough a training in their occupation, in order 
to realize that the great majority of men have for the most 
part unreflectively organized systems of ideas corresponding 
to the central fields of their experience ; and answering to 
the collateral and secondary fields of their experience there 
are systems of ideas even more crudely unreflective, full of 
gaps and inconsistencies, chaotic and vague. 

In a completed act of thought Professor Dewey distin- 
guishes five separate steps : A felt difficulty ; its location and 
definition ; suggestions of possible solution ; development by 
reasoning of the bearings of the suggestions; further ob- 
servations and experiment leading to acceptance or rejec- 
tion. 1 He states that the characteristic which distinguishes 
reflective from unreflective thinking is in the second step. 
In reflective thinking care is exercised in the location and 
definition of the difficulty. The situation which causes 
doubt and difficulty is carefully scrutinized. This is doubt- 
less true ; but in reflection all the latter four steps are more 
carefully taken than in unreflective thought. The difficulty 
is accurately located and defined; the suggested solution 
is not acted upon so quickly; alternative suggestions are 
sought for before proceeding ; the development by reasoning 
of these suggested solutions is more patient and thorough; 
and the final testing of the tentative conclusion by further 
observation and experiment is more adequate. The general 
characteristics of reflection are self-control, suspended judg- 
ment, deliberate effort to grasp all the elements of the prob- 
lem, to consider all possible solutions and to accept only 
those which bear the test of experience. These constitute 
in their perfection the ideal scientific attitude. This atti- 
tude, if maintained, will fill out many of the gaps and re- 
move many of the latent inconsistencies which are certain 
to inhere in an unreflective correlation of ideas, and result in 
an organization of ideas adequate to the guidance of adtion 

1 " How We Think," p. 72. 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 39 

in the more complex and problematical situations that may 
arise. 

If one is a philosopher, or in so far as one proposes to 
himself as an aim the correlation of the systems of ideas 
corresponding to the several fields of his experience, he may 
approximate mental unity and consistency more closely. 
He will construct a consciously held philosophy. I say 
" consciously held," because most men — perhaps all men — 
do form a philosophy, i.e., do come to have a more or less 
unified view of the " world," which means, of course, the 
totality of experience ; although in many cases the man him- 
self does not realize what his philosophy is. A philosophy 
is the unification of all one's knowledge in one system ; and 
even when pursued as a conscious end with great and long- 
continued labour never attains to absolute consistency. 
When it grows up not as an end sought but as a result of 
activities directed to quite other ends, as is the case with 
most men, it is a more or less accidental by-product and is 
most likely to be full of inconsistencies, because in practical 
life the ideas and systems of ideas are brought into con- 
sistency only so far as it is necessary to do so in order to 
attain the more proximate ends toward which most of our 
daily acts are directed. Often a correlation of ideas which 
is sufficient to guide action in simple situations and to the 
attainment of proximate ends proves quite insufficient in 
more complex situations and the attainment of more distant 
ends. A man may be, for instance, an unqualified pacifist, 
and in ordinary simple situations may be able to see how the 
national life can be conducted on that principle ; but when a 
world-war, such as has convlused the whole human universe, 
threatens the very life of nations and apparently the most 
precious interests of humanity, it is not so easy to see how 
to steer the ship of State through these troubled waters by 
that simple principle. A philosophy is an organization of 
one's experience intended to serve as a guide of action in the 
attainment of the ultimate and most general end of exist- 
ence. When consciously undertaken and wrought out with 



40 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

great patience and learning it may prove inadequate, even 
disastrously misleading. How utterly unsafe, then, may 
a philosophy be which has grown up as a mere blind result, 
so to speak, out of a narrow range of petty experiences ! 

Often particular correlations of ideas which are formed in 
an uncritical manner in some field of experience petrify, so 
to speak, and, for one reason or another, persist in a re- 
markable way, lying in the mind as flinty formations which 
resist the reflective, rationalizing process. Some popular 
beliefs of a quasi-superstitious character are of this sort, 
and probably have their origin in hasty, unreflective think- 
ing. For instance, the notion that when the visible Moon 
has a certain shape it indicates rain or dry weather; that 
potatoes should be planted during a certain phase of the 
moon's changes; that the number 13 is unlucky: or that an 
enterprise begun on Friday will turn out badly, — all such 
notions are probably crude and hasty generalizations of ex- 
perience. Perhaps some coincidence, occurring under strik- 
ing circumstances, was observed and related by some person- 
age of importance ; was spread by suggestion among an un- 
critical populace; became itself a selective influence direct- 
ing attention to its accidental recurrences, while its failures 
to recur passed without notice ; was handed down to suc- 
ceeding generations, as a traditional saying supposed to 
have its basis in generations of cumulative experience; and 
thus came to have a great prestige with uncritical minds, 
clinging even to many minds accustomed in some measure to 
the practice of critical reflection. The persistence of these 
beliefs even in circles of average culture is a striking in- 
dication of the fact that the mental systems of most men 
are very largely of the unreflective type. 

Individual personal prejudices also result from the hard- 
ening of hasty and unreflective judgments, when they be- 
come associated with deep feelings. For instance, one 
" gets an impression " of some person as a result of casual 
acquaintance. It may be wrong ; but becoming linked up at 
once with a feeling of aversion or attraction, it persists as 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 41 

a prejudice. In subsequent experience with that person it 
puts one in an attitude of antagonism or friendliness which 
inevitably evokes such responses as will justify the original 
judgment; and so it persists through life, perhaps, resisting 
the rational process of reflection. Such prejudices may, of 
course, grow up in any of one's relations and in any field of 
experience. 

Sometimes they partake both of the nature of non-ra- 
tional popular belief and of personal prejudice. Of this type 
often are the attitudes of great national groups toward 
one another. As an outgrowth both of unreflective per- 
sonal experience and of social suggestion, national groups 
may come to have notions of one another which a critical 
examination would show to be gross caricatures, but which 
unconsciously colour the personal experiences with one an- 
other of the individuals of the groups. Deep feelings of 
aversion or attraction become involved; and the national 
prejudices so engendered resist all the efforts of rational 
criticism to dissolve them. In conjunction with other 
causes they are often responsible for the frightful tragedy 
of war. This is a matter for earnest thought in this age of 
the world when international relations constitute so great 
and pressing a problem. 

Surely a thoroughly rational ordering of human conduct, 
attained by the critical control of all the processes of 
thought, is much to be desired; but is a rare achievement 
indeed. In fact, it is never achieved. Some non-rational 
popular beliefs, some individual and group prejudices may 
be found even in the most enlightened intelligences ; and are, 
of course, much more numerous in minds less accustomed 
to critical reflection. Indeed, in such minds it is not uncom- 
mon to see such a petrifaction of the main parts of the 
mental system ; and then we have " the closed mind," a 
phenomenon discussed elsewhere. 1 

1 See Chap. VIII. 



42 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 



II. MEANING 

The meaning of a sensation or a mental image is its 
reference to other parts of our experience. As isolated, a 
thing means nothing. To give it significance, it must be 
taken from its isolation and connected up with other things 
in consciousness. Pillsbury 1 has maintained, and justly, 
that a thing cannot get into consciousness except as it is 
judged, or given meaning, related to other parts of one's 
experience. Many things come into consciousness as 
strange, singular, anomalous. Do not these things get into 
consciousness without being received into the mental sys- 
tem, without acquiring meaning? No. For when anything 
is pronounced " strange," " anomalous," it is thereby judged 
— it is a strange thing. Now " thing " is one category of 
meaning and " strange " is another. The thing gets into 
the vestibule of the mental system, so to speak, but its prob- 
lematical character is, to the mind which is not atrophied, 
a constant irritant, inciting the effort to incorporate it more 
thoroughly into the system. As an example, I recall my 
experience at the time of the Charleston earthquake, in 
1888. I was sitting in my chamber in Nashville, Tenn., 
reading aloud to my wife. We felt a shock, apparently a 
sudden upward push of the house, repeated two or three 
times. The reading stopped and we enquired simul- 
taneously, "What was that?" The occurrence came into 
our consciousness as a shock, an upward push of the house, 
and as such was associated with other of our experiences, 
i.e., was given meaning. But as a shock there was some- 
thing strange and disconcerting about it. In a moment we 
exclaimed, " That felt like an earthquake." Here was a 
tentative association of it with another definite circle of 
experiences. The next morning the dispatches confirmed 
our inference. The incident was now more fully under- 
stood; it had acquired more definite and certain meaning, 
was taken up into a larger circle of experiences. And yet 

1 " Psychology of Reasoning," p. 104, ff. 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 43 

it was far from being wholly understood, though its mean- 
ing was much more complete than when we recognized it 
only as a peculiar kind of shock. The large question re- 
mained, What is an earthquake? A vibration of a portion 
of the earth's surface. So far, so good; the meaning has 
grown. The rude shock is definitely related to a large body 
of experiences. But what causes the earth to quake ? The 
answer to this question expands the meaning by relating the 
event to another large circle of knowledge. And in the last 
analysis, the limits of the possible meaning of that shock 
are not reached until it is definitely located in the totality of 
cosmic phenomena. Manifestly, then, the organization of 
one's mental system is the process by which all the mental 
elements acquire meaning. And the total possible meaning 
of any sensation or image is the perception of all those 
relations with other experiences which in any possible way 
might influence one's action or attitude. Not /only does 
each experience added to a mental system receive additional 
meaning according to the extent and content of the system, 
but it also contributes its increment of meaning to every 
other fact with which it thus becomes related. Is not the 
ideal of mental development the organization of a system of 
knowledge which correlates each fact with the whole uni- 
verse of possible experiences, so that each item becomes a 
bearer of the meaning of the whole? 

Flower in the crannied wall, 
I pluck you out of the crannies ; — 
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, 
Little flower — but if I could understand 
What you are, root and all, and all in all, 
I should know what God and man is. 

i. Primary or functional meaning. In the earlier stages 
of mental organization the meaning of a thing is quite ob- 
viously its use or function. The use meaning of a thing 
enables one easily to identify it among other things and to 
know how to adjust oneself to it in ordinary situations. 



44 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

To the child a ball is a thing that rolls, a round thing. How- 
does it come to attach that meaning to that object? By the 
actual exercise of rolling the ball. A knife means some- 
thing to cut with, a meaning which is developed by the 
use of the knife; and for a time that meaning suffices to 
identify that object and to indicate one's proper adjustment 
to it. After a while the child becomes acquainted with other 
objects which are used for cutting, but in a different way. 
Then it begins to make more definite its meaning for 
knife; the particular use of the knife and the corre- 
sponding form of it enter into the meaning. The ob- 
ject and its function come to be more definitely distin- 
guished from other objects and their functions as its mean- 
ing expands. 

It is apparent that the use meanings are built up in unre- 
flective experience. By the phrase, " unreflective .expe- 
rience," is meant experience in which the attention is 
directed to the realization of some proximate practical end, 
and not to the systematic correlation of ideas with more or 
less conscious reference to some far-off end. The use mean- 
ings thus grow up as a sort of by-product of practical 
experience, and consist of the revived sensations of move- 
ment or strain which accompany actual adjustments. An 
examination of definitions formulated by children shows 
clearly that in the beginning one's system of meanings is 
built up and used in this way ; and if any adult will examine 
his own mental equipment he will be surprised to discover 
how much of it remains of this character to the end. Let 
one consider the vast number of objects of which he has a 
sufficiently definite notion to guide him in every-day dealing 
with them, but of which he would find it quite impossible 
to give off-hand a clear-cut, systematic or scientifically ac- 
curate definition, and he will realize that by far the greater 
number of objects which have entered into his expe- 
rience have for him only a functional meaning. Sup- 
pose you were called on to give at once a definition of 
" chair " which would be logically complete and exact 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 45 

Even if you were a philosopher you would probably fail. 
You would probably have to fall back upon the use meaning 
— it is something to sit on. In this respect, if in no other, 
we all retain our childhood to the end of our days. 

2. Secondary or theoretical meaning and its relation to 
the functional. As the mental system is reflectively reor- 
ganized each unit of experience is brought into more con- 
scious and definite relations with others, and with more ex- 
tensive sections of the system. Its meaning thus becomes at 
once more explicit and more complex, while the reference to 
its function becomes more remote. Usually the theoretical 
definition of an object makes no immediate, reference to its 
ordinary use, but gives it a definite location in a wide circle 
of concepts and seeks particularly to fix it in a genetic 
series, to define it in terms of the facts which conditioned 
its appearance. The movement is from concrete, practical, 
meaning to abstract, theoretical meaning. But in theo- 
retical meaning there is an implicit reference to use or func- 
tion. In the last analysis all knowledge, though it may be 
sought by some minds for its own sake, has as its function 
the guidance of conduct, in the broad sense of the word. It 
is the equipment of a man for proper adjustment to his total 
environment. The primary use meanings of an object 
guide one's adjustment to it in simple and ordinary sit- 
uations and furnish a sufficient basis for rules of action; 
but there are exceptions to all rules. The theoretical, or 
scientific, meanings, seeing things in their relation to the 
whole range of experience as treasured up in one's system 
of concepts, guide adjustment in varying and exceptional 
situations, and give a basis for universal principles of action 
to which there are no exceptions. 

But neither type of meaning is sufficient apart from the 
other. The simple use meanings need to be enlarged and 
corrected by the scientific in order that all essential elements 
which are not obvious may be included, and in order that 
they may be purged of all unessential elements, which might 
in unusual circumstances lead astray; and the scientific 



46 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

need to be subjected to the test of practice in order that they 
may be " realized," or be adequately grasped, and that they 
may be kept free from useless and misleading elements. A 
theoretical meaning becomes much more real to one when 
he becomes vividly conscious how it determines or modifies 
action. The idea must be interpreted in terms of the kin- 
aesthetic sensations in order that one may get a lively sense 
of its meaning. And when the meaning of the concept is 
thus reduced to its lowest terms it is not only more vividly 
realized, but its adequacy or inadequacy, its truth or false- 
ness, is more readily perceived. Thus the theoretical mean- 
ings must be tested by being reduced to the functional mean- 
ings. They are not scientific, nor are they established as 
meanings, until confirmed by practical application. The 
practical application should be by experiment, when that 
is possible, as it usually is in the physical sciences, and to a 
certain extent in psychology; or by repeated recurrence 
under various and widely different circumstances, as in the 
social sciences. 

The " practical " man is one who puts great emphasis 
upon the use meanings, and usually speaks with contempt 
of theory. The " theoretical " man is one who places the 
emphasis upon the abstract meanings and is mainly inter- 
ested in knowledge as an end. He finds his satisfaction in 
the systematic correlation of ideas, with secondary, if any, 
reference to their practical applications. Both attitudes are 
partial and lead to unsatisfactory results. The practical 
man who wholly discards theory will be short-sighted and 
narrow, " bumptious " and full of prejudices, and in un- 
familiar circumstances is liable to gross error; the 
theoretical man, neglecting practical applications, will be 
fanciful and fall into many absurdities, because his think- 
ing lacks the correction of facts. The two attitudes com- 
bined will yield both " common sense " and breadth of 
vision ; will enable one to keep his feet planted firmly upon 
the solid earth of reality and yet see, beyond the details 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 47 

of the present and the near, the far-off relations of his action 
in time and space. 

III. DIFFERENTIATION OF MENTAL SYSTEMS 

Before proceeding to indicate the practical applications 
of these principles which have been rather abstractly set 
forth, another truth of great importance should be taken 
into consideration. It is a fact of capital significance that 
as social development proceeds the mental systems of men, 
whether considered as individuals or as groups, undergo 
a progressive differentiation. 

i. Differentiating influences. The first of these we men- 
tion is the occupation. Obviously the occupation is of great 
significance in the development of the mental life. Usually 
it is the tie which more than any other gives unity to the 
ideas built up in several contiguous fields of experience. 
Says Professor Dewey : " Adults normally carry on some 
occupation, profession, pursuit; and this occupation fur- 
nishes the continuous axis about which their knowledge, 
their beliefs and their habits of reaching conclusions are 
organized. " 1 Certainly for the average man the system of 
ideas built up in the general field of experience compre- 
hended in his occupation will form throughout life the core 
of his mental organization. What is meant by " occupa- 
tion " is that series of activities, whether economic, 
political, religious, or scientific, which chiefly engages one's 
attention and energy. Sometimes, in fact, a man's nominal 
occupation is really his avocation, and vice versa. Nom- 
inally William Carey was a shoe-maker, but his real occu- 
pation was not making shoes; it was the propagation of 
Christianity in heathen lands. Paul's occupation was not 
tent-making, though that was his method of earning his 
living. The major part of his time and energy was given to 
preaching to the Gentiles. Edmund Clarence Stedman's oc- 
cupation was really that of a literary critic, though he would 

i " How We Think," p. 41. 



48 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

probably be classified in a directory of occupations as a 
banker or financier. And it is, of course, the real occupation 
which is so dominant in the formation of a man's mental 
system. In fields of experience not immediately involved in 
this he may form systems of ideas which are only loosely 
related to his central system ; and in fields still more distant 
he may build up systems which are never brought into any 
perceptible correlation with the one organized in the occupa- 
tion. But in so far as he attains to mental unification — 
and, of course, he must have some degree of mental unity — 
it will in the main come through the assimilation of all his 
other systems of ideas to this dominant one; and doubtless 
this dominant one will, in any case, act as a sort of subcon- 
scious control, determining more or less completely both the 
content and the form of the systems built up in remote fields, 
although both within the dominant system and between it 
and the subordinate ones many inconsistencies are likely 
to remain. 

Of course, the ideas originating in the subordinate or col- 
lateral fields react upon the central system and modify to 
some extent the view of life and mode of thought which 
are the resultant of one's chief activities ; and some rare 
men, perhaps, are so broad in their sympathies and so many 
sided and versatile in their intellectual life that their mental 
development can not be determined by the narrow limits of 
a specialized occupation. But ordinarily people engaged in 
the various forms of " practical work " and in the so-called 
" professions " do not rise far above these limits ; and those 
who devote themselves to scientific pursuits usually find 
themselves inevitably limited to fractional departments of 
any great realm of science, and these constitute the axes 
around which their mental systems are organized. 

In connection with the dominant influence of the occupa- 
tion we must consider the fact that our modern life is char- 
acterized by a minute and constantly increasing division of 
labour. The differentiation of occupations has gone on until 
it has become a fact of most striking significance; and the 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 49 

process is not only not checked but is proceeding at an ac- 
celerating rate. It seems to be due to the operation of 
fundamental laws of being ; and, while it is true that the ap- 
pearance of new forms of activity sometimes leads to the 
discontinuance of old forms, each new form, after it appears, 
leads most likely to the introduction of several others. 
Thus the total number of differentiated forms of activity is 
constantly on the increase. All men are becoming special- 
ized. A glance backward to earlier social conditions is 
sufficient to confirm the statement that this specialization 
is a rapidly increasing process. If we recall how in early 
society, before the beginning of the exchange of goods be- 
tween groups, all the customary forms of activity were 
carried on within one small circle, without any clear division 
of labour except between the sexes'; if we further consider 
how, with the expansion of the groups and the establishment 
of relations between neighbouring groups, the differentia- 
tion of occupations within each group proceeded ; and if we 
follow this process until it issues in the almost infinite maze 
of differentiated activity of our present-day life, we shall 
perceive that we are now stationed where the past develop- 
ment, like a broadening Amazon, expands into an era of com- 
plicated specialization of truly oceanic proportions. There 
are some seventeen thousand different occupational desig- 
nations in current use, though many of them indicate forms 
of activity so nearly alike that our Census Bureau' finds that 
there are only about ten thousand which are of service in 
its enumeration. By far the greater number of these are of 
comparatively recent origin. Who can tell to what extent 
this process of specialization is to go, or how profoundly 
it is to modify the mental development of the people? 

But the differentiation of occupations, though very im- 
portant, is by no means the only influence at work produc- 
ing variations and divergences among the mental systems of 
men. Native organic differences are also important causes 
of these divergences. Human beings do not inherit a com- 
pletely and rigidly organized nervous constitution, but each 



50 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

is born with certain peculiar predispositions fixed in his 
nervous system, and these exert a very great influence upon 
the formation of his mental system. One's inborn tend- 
encies may render him reactionary, radical or conservative 
in disposition ; they may give him a penchant for some form 
of art, or for some special role in politics, or for some par- 
ticular science, or for a specific line of business, or for some 
other form of specialized activity. In this way they may 
have a determining influence in the selection of his occupa- 
tion, though, for various reasons, the form of activity for 
which he has this special turn of mind may not be the 
one in which he actually engages. Men often drift into 
occupations for which they are not naturally adapted. In 
any case, these individual organic tendencies control largely 
the direction of a man's attention and give greater weight 
in his mind to certain facts and considerations than to 
others, and thus influence profoundly the constitution of 
his mental system. So it happens that different men build 
up within the same general field of occupational experience 
systems of ideas dissimilar in important respects. 

Nor should it be forgotten that, quite apart from the 
influence of occupations and of native differences, the intel- 
lectual environment in which one grows up or lives for a 
long time is an important factor in moulding his mind. It 
needs but a glance over any extensive social group to see 
that it tends to break up into an increasing number of such 
intellectual environments, each resulting from the peculiar 
synthesis of sociological conditions prevailing in some par- 
ticular part of the country, or in some stratum or section of 
the society. From some special environment each man in- 
evitably receives influences which have much to do in deter- 
mining his processes of thought and his mental organization. 
If his innate tendencies are not strongly divergent and the 
mode of thought developed by his occupation does not pre- 
vent, he simply conforms, assumes the mental attitude which 
is general in his locality, or in his class, or in his group of 
friends, or in the literature which he reads. If his innate 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 5 1 

tendencies are strongly divergent he will react against the 
influences of his environment. But whether his attitude be 
one of conformity or of resistance, that environment will 
be equally powerful in the formation of his mental system. 
The radical who lives in an atmosphere of proscription will 
develop an intellectual life very different from that which 
he would in an atmosphere of freedom. Indeed, a man who 
is a radical in one intellectual atmosphere might quite con- 
ceivably have been a conservative had he dwelt in another, 
and vice versa. An environment is equally powerful in its 
influence upon the conformist and the non-conformist. It 
may assimilate or it may alienate, but it can not be ignored. 
Now, as these several processes of differentiation go on, 
each crossing and modifying the other, the mental systems 
of men necessarily become more and more highly differen- 
tiated; men become more variant and widely sundered in 
their intellectual interests and modes of thought. It is 
sometimes said that there is an even stronger counter tend- 
ency. It is declared that the development of intercom- 
munication in various ways — the increase of travel, the 
publication of knowledge of every sort, the reading habit, 
etc. — swells enormously the fund of common ideas, and 
tends towards the establishment of common standards and 
points of view. Then there is the practice of using over 
wide areas the same text-books in the public schools. The 
stronger movement, therefore, is sometimes declared to 
be in the direction of a dead level of mental uniformity. 
But this is a superficial view. It is true that the tendency is 
for all knowledge to be made available for every man ; that 
the views of every man are coming more and more to be ac- 
cessible to all men. And we may, if we choose, imagine this 
to go on until the theoretical limit is reached, and all that 
every man thinks is placed at the disposal of all men. 
What of it ? Would it reduce the mental life of men to a 
dead uniformity ? It would have rather the opposite effect. 
No individual can appropriate all ideas. He simply has an 
ever-enlarging fund of other men's ideas to draw upon in 



52 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

organizing his own mental system, which will be formed 
under the control of the individualizing influences just dis- 
cussed. The system of ideas growing up as a result of the 
differentiating influences at work upon him operates as a 
selecting principle, determining what ideas out of the gen- 
eral fund available for him he will actually appropriate, and 
also the particular relations in which he will organize them 
in his own mind; and the availability of an increasing store 
of other men's thoughts simply multiplies the number of 
individual permutations possible and also the possible range 
of variation of these individual combinations. One could 
arrange a thousand bricks into many structural forms which 
would be very unlike one another; but a million bricks are 
capable of a far greater number of structural combinations 
each of which would be still more unique. So with the 
units of the mental life. Of course, there is much that is 
common in the experiences of men and, therefore, much 
that is common to their intellectual systems ; but this com- 
mon factor, while it may grow absolutely larger, must grow 
relatively smaller in the continuous development of social 
life. 

2. The effect of the differentiation upon meaning. We 
have seen that the total meaning of a mental image is deter- 
mined by its particular setting in the total system. The 
group of images with which it is immediately connected 
give its specific meaning; but the entire system constitutes 
the background of its significance. The whole system gives 
to each image a certain perspective through which it is 
viewed. It thus bears, in addition to its specific content of 
meaning, a certain atmosphere of meaning imparted to it by 
its general relations in the whole body of one's thought. 
These general relations may not come into the focus of con- 
sciousness but only into the fringe, but are nevertheless im- 
portant elements of meaning. 

It is apparent, then, that to persons whose mental systems 
are differently constituted the same image must have a 
somewhat different meaning. In so far as the systems 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 53 

approximate each other will the meanings be similar; in so 
far as they diverge will the meanings be different. The 
same is true of the same person at different stages of his 
development. Think what the sun means to a child of three 
or four summers and w T hat it means to the same person 
after he has become a scientific astronomer. In the first 
case the sun is just a great luminous body in the sky; in 
the latter case he thinks of the sun in terms of the immeas- 
urable spaces and magnitudes of the heavens and the« 
unnumbered aeons of cosmic development. The difference 
in the meaning of the same object to the same person at 
different stages of development indicates what great differ- 
ences of meanings may attach to the same objects in the 
minds of men who stand on different levels of culture. To 
convey a meaning from one mind to another absolutely 
without modification is impossible. The possibility of doing 
so would imply identical mental systems in the two minds, 
which is out of the question. A statement made to a group 
of persons will receive a somewhat different interpretation 
in each mind. This is true even of a mathematical formula, 
which is the nearest possible approach to the fixation of a 
meaning in a pattern invariable for all minds. Certainly in 
this extreme case there is a very different atmosphere of 
meaning for different persons. Would not the same mathe- 
matical formula arouse a very different set of associations, 
remote references and suggestions, a different atmosphere of 
meaning, in the mind of the average school boy from what 
it would in the mind of Pierre Simon La Place? In the 
case of a formula of physical science the difference would 
probably be greater, because the subject matter of physical 
science does not lend itself to exact definitions, can not be 
cut into invariable patterns, like the subject matter of 
mathematics. In the use of a theological formula the diver- 
gence of meanings is still greater. It seems to be inevitable 
that men who subscribe to the same theological formulas 
should fill them with more or less different meanings, each 
interpreting the formulas through the medium of his own 



54 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

intellectual system. We are not referring to the fact that 
men sometimes dishonestly subscribe to creeds which they 
do not believe, but to the psychological necessity men are 
under of attaching to the terms of formulas which they 
honestly accept meanings which are determined by their own 
systems of ideas. It is interesting, for instance, to consider 
what different meanings may be borne by the word " God " 
in the minds of people who are of different grades of cul- 
ture or whose minds have been formed in different environ- 
ments. In the mind of a person bred in a gentle and cul- 
tured Christian home, it has one meaning ; in the mind of a 
savage, quite another. In the mind of an ignorant rustic 
it calls up one set of associations ; in the mind of the phil- 
osopher Spinoza it had quite another. Contrast the mean- 
ing which it conveys to the mind of a Wall Street broker 
with that which it conveyed to Francis, the saint, or to 
Swedenborg, the mystic, or to Herbert Spencer, the agnos- 
tic. And when particular theological terms, which connote 
such great varieties of meaning in different minds, are com- 
bined into a lengthy formula, it is inevitable that this will 
stand for a widely different content of meaning in each 
mind. The practical significance of this fact grows when 
it is remembered that, by reason of the continual differen- 
tiation of occupations and other influences tending in the 
same direction, the mental systems of men are becoming 
more and more varied and divergent. 

The divergence of meanings increases as the mental sys- 
tems become more critically organized. When the emphasis 
is put upon the uses or functions of things men's ideas of 
those things approximate more closely, and this is the more 
true as those uses or functions concern us in more common 
ways and in the more simple and ordinary situations. For 
instance, three persons are looking at a locomotive engine. 
One of them is a little child ; to it the engine is just a big 
thing with big wheels, which puffs out smoke and pulls the 
train. Another is the engineer ; to him it is a complicated 
piece of machinery, which he more or less adequately under- 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 55 

stands, and is used for pulling the train. A third is a pro- 
fessor of economics ; to him also it is a complicated organiza- 
tion of parts and functions (dimly understood for the most 
part), the invention of which occurred at a particular point 
in economic history and which has performed a most im- 
portant function in the economic development of society. 
The latter associations may be in the focus of his attention, 
or only in the fringe, and so may constitute only a surround- 
ing nebula of meaning. In either case they distinguish the 
meaning in his mind from that in the others. But to him 
also the engine is something that pulls the train. In this 
last point all the meanings, so divergent in other respects, 
agree, because that is the one aspect of the engine which is 
most obvious and most manifestly affects the daily lives of 
men. We may say, then, that the use meanings of things 
are like threads that run through variant mental systems, 
giving them unity; and when these use meanings are of an 
obvious, every-day character, the larger is the number of 
mental systems which they unite and the more closely the 
systems are united. On the other hand, those meanings 
which are constituted in the effort to systematize one's 
knowledge reflectively will become more and more unlike in 
different minds the more general, abstract, theoretical they 
become. 

This divergence of mental systems in their theoretical 
meanings is to a limited extent overcome by the precision 
given to technical terms. A technical term is a coin of the 
realm which passes at its face value among all the in- 
habitants. It is supposed to mean the same thing in every 
mind; and it approximates this generality of meaning as 
nearly as is possible. But in every mind these terms of 
fixed meaning are organized into larger bodies of ideas, and, 
in these larger correlations of thought, acquire quite different 
atmospheres of meaning. When, therefore, the effort is 
made by means of carefully framed definitions to reduce a 
number of minds to a common denominator in their thought 
upon some subject, only partial success can be expected. 



56 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

For instance, two men use the term " evolution " with quite 
the same technical significance; but one of them may be in 
his philosophy a Christian theist and the other a materialistic 
atheist, and by reason of this different philosophical setting 
the term will inevitably have a very different atmosphere of 
meaning in the two minds. 

IV. PRACTICAL PROBLEMS INVOLVED 

i. The first of these is the problem of understanding. 
That persons often misunderstand one another is the veriest 
commonplace of experience, and it constitutes one of the 
most persistent and serious problems of every-day life. It 
is important to inquire how the difficulty can be overcome, 
so that minds sharply differentiated may still be able to 
understand one another well enough at least to hold profit- 
able intercourse and not to do each other serious injustice 
by misinterpretation. Fortunately it seems to be true that 
wide and varied experience, acquaintance with many phases 
of life and general intellectual culture not only lead to a 
higher differentiation of individual minds, but seem also to 
improve the productive or constructive imagination. By a 
sympathetic use of the constructive imagination a man 
whose mind is very different in organization from another's 
can, if he is acquainted with the conditions under which the 
other has lived, approximately represent to himself his men- 
tal system and thus get the clue to his meanings. Of 
course, men who are naturally gifted with imagination will 
always be able to do this with more success than others; 
but breadth of experience and general culture will greatly 
aid the highly endowed as well as the mediocre minds. 

The first and most urgent problem of the public speaker, 
whether he be a lawyer before a jury, a statesman before 
the people or a preacher before his congregation, is to make 
himself understood. Only the dishonest politician can 
profit by a confusion of meaning. If in rare cases one may 
rightly conceal his thought from some of his hearers, as 
Jesus seems to have done on at least one occasion, it is 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 57 

never legitimate to mislead. But if the speaker tries never 
so hard to make himself clear, he will often have cause to 
wonder at the strange meanings attributed by various 
hearers to statements which seem to him to be capable of only 
one interpretation. There is laid upon him the necessity 
of entering, as far as is humanly possible, into the mental 
systems of his hearers and of limiting himself as closely 
as practicable to the use meanings that are common to his 
own and the various minds of his auditors. For he is 
addressing an audience all of whose mental systems are 
different from his own ; but that is not the worst of it — all 
their mental systems are different from one another. Be- 
fore him are represented mental divergences arising from 
organic differences, differences of occupation, various types 
and stages of culture, and usually also divergences arising 
from various mental environments in which the hearers 
have lived. But as a rule the preacher is in a worse case 
than any other public speaker, for usually his audiences 
are not selected on any definite principle, unless it be that of 
creed, and that counts for less than ever before as a prin- 
ciple by which a mentally homogeneous group may be 
brought together. His audiences are likely to be a sort of 
omnium gatherum. And his disadvantage is increased by 
the fact that he has usually had special training in an order 
of ideas and terms which in recent times seem to be becom- 
ing less and less familiar to the people. This does not mean 
that he should quit studying theology, but that he needs 
more and more to study the daily life of the people as well. 
It is obvious to one who closely studies preaching today 
that comparatively few preachers realize the extent to 
which they are not understood, or are positively misunder- 
stood, in their solemn deliverances. They simply do not 
know how seriously they are insulated mentally from the 
masses of the people. 

It is worthy of note that the speaker has the advantage 
of the writer in two ways. He is permitted greater latitude 
in repetition, and he may interpret his meaning not only by 



58 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

words, but by intonations, gesticulations and changes of 
facial expression — all of which are very important ways 
of conveying meaning. But he has one serious disad- 
vantage — he has to make his meaning apparent at once. 
The hearer can not linger upon words, phrases and sentences 
to extract their meaning, as the reader can; and if the 
hearer attempts to carry them away in memory to ponder 
upon their meaning, it will be found that the probability 
of misapprehension and misinterpretation will be greatly 
increased. 

But the problem of understanding is a double one. We 
must not only try to make others understand us ; it is equally 
important for us to understand others. We must not only 
communicate; we must interpret. And the latter is quite 
as difficult to do as the former. In every-day intercourse 
we face this difficulty, and it should, perhaps, challenge one's 
conscience more strongly than the difficulty of accurately 
communicating one's own thought, though usually people 
are much more careless about it. For certain classes of 
public speakers also it is a problem which will engage most 
serious attention, if they be conscientious, and this is par- 
ticularly true of the preacher, whose function is so largely 
one of interpretation. 

2. The problem of exposition. This is really a com- 
bination of the problems of communication and interpreta- 
tion. Much of preaching is and should be exposition, i.e., 
taking the ideas of one, and communicating them to another 
mind. It is, so to speak, a three-cornered process. A must 
take B's thought and communicate it to C. Now, A has one 
mental system; B — if only a single person — represents 
another; C — if only a single person — still another. In 
order to understand B perfectly, A has his first difficult 
task. He can not do so until he has comprehended B's 
mental system in its completeness. It is manifest that he 
can do this only approximately. His second difficulty is to 
communicate B's thought to C. To do this perfectly he 
must comprehend adequately not only B's but also C's men- 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 59 

tal system. Manifestly he can do this only approximately. 
The problem of exposition as thus stated is difficult enough. 
But it is rare that the process is so simple. As a matter of 
fact, B often represented not one person but several. For 
instance, in the case of the preacher, the first task is to 
understand the Bible. But the Bible contains the writings 
of many men, and to render the matter more serious still, 
those men lived in remote and widely separated periods of 
time, and in strikingly different mental environments. 
Moreover, C represents as a rule not a single person but a 
congregation made up of many mental types. The purpose 
is not to exaggerate the difficulty. The bare statement of it 
makes it appear serious enough; but it is desirable that 
preachers shall become more sensible of its magnitude. 
Perhaps it would make the dogmatism of their interpreta- 
tions and deliverances more modest, and contribute some- 
what to their humility. 

3. The problem of creedal union. Creeds and general 
formulas of every kind become less and less available as 
bases of union in every sphere of life. It is increasingly 
difficult to get men to agree upon them, especially if they 
are theoretical in character. Where the functional mean- 
ings prevail in theological statements, it is easier to secure 
agreement. For example, if we say that Jesus cleanses the 
consciences of those who heartily yield themselves to him, 
and gives them moral power, we can count upon very 
general assent from Christian people. But if we set forth 
some theory of these facts, those same people will fly apart 
into widely separated and opposing groups. In the case of 
a creedal statement which in the past has acquired a wide 
acceptance, an ever wider latitude of private interpretation 
must and will be allowed. And what is true of creedal 
statements is true of abstract formulas of every kind. 
This tendency is an obvious fact of our present day relig- 
ious, political and philosophical life. New theoretical 
creeds will spring up but will be able to rally to their 
standards smaller proportions of the total population; and 



60 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the only religious creed that bids fair to appproximate uni- 
versal acceptance is that which, with a minimum of abstract 
formula, makes central and regnant the principle of private 
interpretation. 

4. As these principles governing the formation of mental 
systems are more clearly understood, the more apparent 
becomes the utter futility of many of the bitter contro- 
versies which have disturbed the peace of the world. 
Many, indeed most, of them have been veritable logomachies. 
It is mainly, if not exclusively, in the sphere of the use 
meanings that they serve a good purpose. They are useful 
in bringing out all relevant facts and thus clearing up 
practical issues ; but even in matters of this sort their value 
is often neutralized by hopeless misunderstandings and the 
bad feelings which they engender. In matters of theoretical 
interest, particularly in the realms of science, philosophy 
and theology, there is hardly anything that can be said in 
their favour. When one considers the brood of evil passions 
which they have produced in the souls of men, giving license, 
yea, even sanction, to the most diabolical impulses of human 
nature; when one tries to estimate the value of the precious 
lives sacrificed in the blind effort to settle by the sword or 
gibbet controversies which could not be settled by arguments 
because men were so differentiated in their mental life that 
they simply could not understand one another; and when 
one further reflects that, apart from the frightful tragedies 
which have been enacted, much of the best energy of the 
human spirit has run to waste in these futile struggles — 
energy which, if properly directed, would have led humanity 
centuries further on the upward way, — one must conclude 
that unseemly controversy, having its basis in ignorance and 
misunderstanding, has been, and yet is, one of the most 
serious evils which has afflicted our world. With very dif- 
ferent mental systems and, therefore, different meanings for 
all their important words, men controvert with a passion 
which rises in intensity as the misunderstanding deepens. 
Each begins with the intention of convincing the other of a 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 6l 

truth, but often ends by convincing himself that the other is 
a liar. Controversy can not be intellectually profitable and 
can only be morally hurtful, if conducted without a full 
recognition of the extreme difficulty with which men can 
understand one another especially in matters which involve 
their more important reflective systems of ideas. Asso- 
ciated with the same terms in the opposing minds there will 
always be different suggestions, implications, references 
more or less remote — in a word, different atmospheres of 
meaning — which it is quite impossible to communicate to 
one another. This general setting of a term in a mental sys- 
tem is often the most important element of its meaning; and 
not only do the antagonists in a controversy fail to appre- 
hend this part of each other's meaning, but, on the contrary, 
each imparts to a term used by the other the particular at- 
mosphere of meaning which it has in his own mind. Con- 
troversy, therefore, has been and must continue to be a 
comparatively barren exercise of the human understanding; 
and, unless conducted with great self-control and supreme 
humility of spirit, will not only not clarify the truth but 
will darken it by clouds of passion. 

5. The problem of co-operation. In the light of these 
principles we can see why it is so much easier as a rule to 
get men to agree on things to be done than on a system to 
be believed; and why it is easier to secure agreement on 
specific things to be done than on a general statement of 
policy, the latter implying a more extensive unity in their 
systems of thought. Men can often unite in doing a certain 
thing, when they cannot at all unite in a statement of the 
reasons why it should be done ; and the more elaborate such 
a statement is the less likely is agreement in it. A large 
number of persons may approve a certain act, but back of 
the approval may lie very different systems of ideas and 
courses of reasoning ; for the use meanings, which are 
built up unreflectively in the ordinary activities of life, are 
usually, in mature minds, connected up with a broader sys- 
tem of reflectively organized concepts. The narrow use 



62 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

meanings may constitute a basis of co-operation in doing 
some act, while in the larger meanings involved there may- 
be differences or, in extreme cases, opposition. Sometimes 
it happens that two men agree that a certain thing ought 
to be done, and associate themselves together for doing it 
with entirely different or directly opposite ends in view. 
For instance, two men favour the extension of governmental 
control over corporations, or the fixing of a minimum wage ; 
the one because he regards such a measure as a distinct 
advance toward the socialistic organization of society, the 
other as a means of warding off socialism and maintaining 
society on a competitive basis. Two men contribute to 
foreign missions ; the one because he conceives it to be a 
process of spreading a higher civilization in this world and 
redeeming human society, the other in order that some indi- 
vidual souls may be saved from the doom of a world which 
is beyond redemption. In many cases a wholly different or 
contradictory system of meanings constitutes the mental 
background of the same action. 

We may see in the religious tendencies of our times a 
notable exemplification of the principles we have discussed. 
While the disintegration of authoritative creeds has pro- 
ceeded apace, the groups originally united on the bases of 
creeds have maintained an effective unity. Institutional 
forms of activity have grown up in each communion, and 
while the bonds of common belief have been becoming looser 
and the actual theological unity has been crumbling, the 
members have found the institutional activities a practical 
basis of association and co-operation, although sometimes 
they engage in these activities with very different concep- 
tions of their real significance. Moreover, as the theolog- 
ical cohesion has become less marked, the emphasis has 
fallen more and more upon the ethical and social meaning 
of religion; and groups that once stood aloof from each 
other as solid theological unions, and whose creeds are now 
falling into a sort of anarchy of individual convictions, are 



MENTAL SYSTEMS 63 

drawing near to one another and co-operating in social 
movements and many forms of ethical endeavour. The 
systems of theoretical meanings in religion have become 
impracticable as bases of extensive union ; and both within 
and between the separate communions the use meanings of 
practical life form the chief available bases of associated 
action on a large scale, In this we find the psychological 
explanation of both the integrating and disintegrating 
processes which have attracted so much attention in the 
religious world. 

We find here also the explanation of the fact that men 
have a growing disinclinaton to enter into forms of asso- 
ciation which are expected to be permanent. The per- 
manent association of a large number of individuals implies 
a degree of permanent mental uniformity which in these 
days rarely exists, and so hinders the free development of 
the personality which is so precious a privilege of modern 
men. And yet this is not the manifestation of an anti- 
social spirit. It is not difficult to secure the co-operation of 
large numbers for specific, proximate, practical ends. In 
fact, such temporary combinations were never so frequently 
formed or so numerous in the history of the world. But 
the ease with which co-operative combinations are formed 
is balanced by the ease with which they are dissolved as 
soon as the proximate ends for which they are organized are 
secured. It is an indication of the vast growth of the 
voluntary prkiciple of association in modern society. 
There is no reason, therefore, either to hope for or to dread 
a permanent organic union of various religious groups upon 
either a theological or an institutional basis. Human asso- 
ciation becomes, so to speak, more fluid with the passing 
generations; and the organized co-operative relations of men 
more and more resemble, not the rigid strata of rock which 
give configuration to the solid earth, but the waves and bil- 
lows of the changeful sea, forever forming only to be re- 
formed in different shape. But there is this difference — 



64 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the movement in society is not, like that of the sea, a static 
agitation (if I may coin a paradox), but means on the whole 
a progress toward a higher average development of indi- 
vidual personalities and the more thorough democratization 
of the social order. 



CHAPTER IV 

FEELING 

Feelings are exceptionally changeful and variable fac- 
tors of experience, and easly blend into compounds whose 
elements are hard to distinguish. Moreover, a feeling can 
not easily be seized by the attention and held steadily 
enough before consciousness for critical study. It is diffi- 
cult, indeed, to do this in the case of any mental phenomenon 
— so much so that some psychologists are disposed to de- 
preciate the value of introspection as a scientific method; 
but it is especially difficult when we are seeking to analyze 
and describe feelings. When we try to do this we are apt 
to find ourselves engaged in a chase after a constantly 
elusive phenomenon, always on the trail of it, ever about to 
seize it, but never quite succeeding. It is possible, however, 
to secure insight into this realm of our experience, if we 
have sufficient patience and industry, and for those whose 
occupation it is to persuade men to action nothing is more 
important. We shall, therefore, devote this and the two 
succeeding chapters to a study of this most problematical 
aspect of our mental life. 

i. It will help us to keep our bearings in this hazy region 
if we make at the beginning and keep in mind the distinction 
between feelings and feeling-tones. 

(i) As to feeling-tones. A feeling-tone is an accom- 
paniment of conscious experience. It surrounds or en- 
velops the focal point of consciousness. We are justified, 
perhaps, in saying that it is an accompaniment of all con- 
scious processes, though psychologists are not entirely 
agreed as to this point. Some maintain that there are con- 
scious mental states which have no feeling-tones at all, are 

65 



66 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

entirely neutral. But there are reasons to regard this 
judgment as inaccurate. For practical purposes, no doubt, 
some mental states may be treated as destitute of emotional 
meaning; but in scientific accuracy it is better to say that 
every state of consciousness has some feeling-tone, even 
though it be for the time a negligible factor. The point 
where the emotional colour of experience absolutely dis- 
appears will be found to be the point where consciousness 
itself disappears. But it does not follow that there is a 
definite and fixed proportion between them; for the inten- 
sity of a state of consciousness does not always involve a 
corresponding intensity of feeling-tone. The intensity of 
the conscious state is only one of the several factors which 
determine the intensity of feeling. What those other fac- 
tors are we shall seek to determine later ; at present we need 
only to remark that while strong feeling-tones imply intense 
states of consciousness, the converse may not be true, be- 
cause in any given state of consciousness the feeling-tone 
is only one factor, and the several factors entering into any 
state of consciousness vary independently according to their 
own laws. Our only concern now is to insist that every 
state of consciousness has a certain tone of feeling. This 
is the peculiarly subjective phase, or reference, of every 
experience, its meaning for the self; and is always either 
pleasant or unpleasant. It is, therefore, the basis of our 
valuation of our experiences and of our attribution of 
values to the external objects of experience. 

(2) As to feelings. A feeling should be distinguished 
from a feeling-tone. The tone of pleasantness or unpleas- 
antness is a part, or a factor, of the feeling; and the other 
factor is a blended mass of organic sensations, i.e., sensa- 
tions of changes or disturbances of the vital processes of 
the organism. This distinction, it seems to me, throws light 
upon some problems about which psychologists have been 
divided. Wundt and his followers, for instance, have 
claimed that every feeling may be located somewhere in 
each of three scales, or as he expresses it, every feeling 



FEELING 67 

has three " dimensions." A given feeling is found in each 
of the scales, pleasantness-unpleasantness, tension-relax- 
ation, excitement-quiescence. This doctrine has been much 
criticised on the ground that the last two couplets of terms 
apply to the sensational factors of consciousness but not to 
feeling per se. The misunderstanding seems to me to arise 
out of the fact that both Wundt and his critics have failed 
to make the distinction, mentioned above, between feeling 
and feeling-tone. They both seem to treat the pleasantness 
or unpleasantness of a sensation as a feeling. But a feeling 
is in fact a sensation or blended mass of sensations plus a 
feeling-tone of pleasantness or unpleasantness which indi- 
cates its meaning for the organism. Wundt's " tension-re- 
laxation " and " excitement-quiescence " may be simply 
organic sensational factors of a given state of consciousness, 
as his critics maintain ; but these have their inevitable ac- 
companiment of pleasant or unpleasant tone, and with this 
constitute a feeling. 

This distinction, it seems to me, enables us to resolve 
another difficulty in which many writers on the subject find 
themselves. If a feeling is nothing more than the pleasant- 
ness or unpleasantness of an experience, then it would seem 
that there are only two kinds of feelings. But is it true 
that there is no difference between pleasant feelings or 
between unpleasant feelings except that of degree? May 
not two pleasant feelings be different in kind as well as in 
degree? If a feeling is composed of a mass of more or less 
definite sensations plus a feeling-tone of pleasantness or 
unpleasantness, the answer obviously is, yes. The feeling 
aroused by the news of my friend's recovery from a critical 
illness is different in kind, and not alone in degree, from 
that aroused by a drink of cold water on a hot day. The 
chagrin aroused by the defeat of my favourite base-ball 
team is a different feeling from the sense of sin. They are 
both unpleasant and, if the unpleasantness is the feeling 
then there is no difference between them as feelings except 
possibly one of degree. This is contrary to common sense 



68 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

and to the testimony of consciousness. The mere pleasant- 
ness or unpleasantness of the organic sensations may be dis- 
tinguished in thought from them; but as a matter of fact 
the sensation, or mass of sensations, and its feeling-tone 
are integral and inseparable parts of a single experience, 
and this is a feeling. 

2. Feeling and emotion. Among our affective expe- 
riences there are some which have a more specific, definite 
and intense character than others. These are called " the 
emotions/' and by psychologists are often treated separately 
as phenomena distinct from the feelings in general. It is 
not possible to give a satisfactory list of the emotions ; but 
anger, fear, joy, grief, shame, pride, and sexual excitement 
are the principal primary emotions, though they may be 
blended with one another in many complex forms, and each 
of them has its moral, intellectual or aesthetic correlative. 
Each of them is supposed to result from the excitation of a 
particular instinct. " Each of the principal instincts con- 
ditions some one kind of emotional excitement whose quality 
is specific and peculiar to it; and the emotional excitement 
of specific quality that is the affective aspect of the operation 
of any one of the principal instincts may be called a primary 
emotion." 1 On the physical side they are marked by cer- 
tain characteristic disturbances of the nervous system, and 
on the psychical side they are marked by certain masses of 
blended sensations usually with intense feeling-tones. For 
instance, " in anger we ordinarily find the breathing dis- 
turbed, the circulation irregular and many of the voluntary 
muscles, e.g., those of the hands and face, tense and rigid. 
These muscular movements are inevitably reported by dis- 
tinct modifications in the tone of consciousness. In grief 
an opposite type of muscular condition is met with, i.e., de- 
pression of motor tonicity throughout most of the system." 2 

Now, in what respects are these differentiated from our 

1 MacDougal, " Social Psychology," p. 47. 

2 Angell, " Psychology," p. 137. 



FEELING 69 

general affective experiences? It is evident that, although 
they are usually treated separately as " the emotions," they 
do not constitute a fundamentally distinct type of expe- 
riences. They stand out from among the other phenomena 
of our feeling life by reason of several distinct marks. 
First, they seem to be more immediately connected with the 
definite, fundamental and strongly organized instincts of 
the organism. Second, they are more intense. Third, they 
are more definite, i.e., they affect in more definite ways 
definite tracts of the nervous system ; the sensations of these 
nervous changes are, therefore, more definite, and the feel- 
ing-tones accompanying them are apt to be intense and 
definite also. They are the outstanding elevations — the 
chains of mountains, so to speak — in the general landscape 
of the emotional life. 1 

We have, then, feelings ; emotions, which are only feelings 
of a more definite, pronounced and intense character; and 
feeling-tones, that indicate the meaning for the organism 
of the internal disturbances reported to us by the organic 
sensations, which are constituent elements of every feeling 
and emotion. 

3. Another distinction which should be drawn is that 
between pain and unpleasantness. It is not of great prac- 
tical importance, but will at least avoid confusion. It is 
now maintained by all psychologists that pain is a specific 
sensation with a special set of nerves as its bearers, and may 
itself be located in the scale of pleasantness-unpleasantness. 
It is a well known fact that there are certain pains which 
up to a certain point are pleasant, although, of course, 
nearly all sensations of pain in all degrees of intensity have 
the unpleasant feeling-tone. The matter is referred to here, 
however, not because of its practical interest, but mainly 
in order to explain the avoidance in this discussion of the 
terms " pain " and " painful " in the description of feelings. 

1 See Maier, " Psychologie des Emotionalen Denkens," pp. 413- 
418. 



JO PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

The terms " unpleasant " and " unpleasantness," or " dis- 
agreeable " and " disagreeableness " are consistently used 
instead, although so much longer and less euphonious. 

4. Does the physiological disturbance cause the feeling- 
tone or does the feeling-tone cause the physiological dis- 
turbance ? As it is often expressed, do we feel sorry because 
we cry or do we cry because we feel sorry? It used to be 
considered as a matter of course — as it is yet by the un- 
sophisticated — that when we experienced an unpleasant 
feeling this feeling caused and manifested itself in certain 
motor effects, certain physiological disturbances. It was 
supposed that the perception of a danger caused a feeling 
of fear and that the feeling of fear caused the trembling, 
etc. ; or that the manifestation by one person of a 
hostile purpose against another aroused in the latter a feel- 
ing of anger and that this feeling caused the contraction 
of certain facial muscles, the doubling of the fists, the 
quickening of the heart-beat, etc. This naive conception of 
the relation between the feeling and its motor accom- 
paniment is held by many psychologists today to be just 
the reverse of the truth. On the contrary, so it is claimed, 
the presence of a danger starts certain motor reactions in 
the reflexive and instinctive nervous organization and these 
physiological disturbances are echoed in consciousness as 
the feeling of fear; and so with all other feelings. The 
feeling, according to this theory, is always the reaction in 
consciousness of the excitation of the reflexive and in- 
stinctive co-ordinations of the nervous system. The pri- 
mary effect of the stimulus is physiological and the sec- 
ondary effect is psychical. This is the celebrated James- 
Lange theory of the emotions, so called because it was pro- 
pounded about the same time by those two eminent psychol- 
ogists. While there are many facts which seem to confirm 
this theory, and while it is unquestionably true that a feel- 
ing is never unaccompanied by some organic disturbance, 
the conclusion that the feeling is caused by the physiological 
reaction is not necessary. We are psycho-physical organ- 



FEELING 71 

isms ; it is quite possible, and there are good reasons which 
render it quite probable, that the physical excitation and the 
conscious realization of its meaning for the organism, are 
simultaneous effects of the stimulus. The psycho-physical 
organism reacts to every stimulus that enters consciousness 
with a double response — one psychical (affective), the other 
physical (nervous and muscular). Why think of either as 
preceding the other in time ? However, the important prac- 
tical consideration is that there always accompany feelings 
certain physiological excitations. These organic disturb- 
ances corresponding to the various feelings are of great sig- 
nificance, and must be carefully considered in order to arrive 
at an understanding of the emotional life. 

5. It is a matter of great theoretical and even greater 
practical importance to understand the relation of feeling, 
i.e., the conscious side of emotion, to the motor, or physical 
side. They do not stand in a fixed or invariable ratio to one 
another. To bring out this relation I shall quote from 
Angell. 1 " The peculiar feeling which marks off each emo- 
tion from other emotions is primarily due to the different 
reactions which various objects call forth. These reactions 
are in turn determined by circumstances which may lie in- 
definitely far back in the early history of the race, but in 
each case they require for their effective manipulation 
special forms of co-ordination of the incoming with the out- 
going nerves. Every emotional reaction represents, there- 
fore, the survival of acts originally useful. ... In the pres- 
ent-day individual these originally valuable reactions are 
not commonly executed as they once were, for they are no 
longer unequivocally useful. But they appear now in the 
form of attitudes or tendencies to actions, which are, how- 
ever, in part inhibited from expression. This inhibition is 
due to the fact that, owing to our personal experience and 
present complex structure, the emotional stimulus tends to 
produce two or more different motor reactions, instead of 
producing simply the old, instinctive, hereditary one. The 
1 " Psychology," pp. 327-333- 



J2 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

emotion is in essence our consciousness of the conflict 
between the several reactions which the stimulus tends 
to call forth. The conflict subsides only when the two or 
more groups of nascently aroused co-ordinations are in some 
way unified and brought into a larger and more inclusive 
co-ordination. . . . The point we here make is that we 
should not become so vividly aware of the movement were 
there not a tendency to inhibit them, exercised by tendencies 
to make other movements. . . . The emotion is a state of 
tension, and this fact is all too likely to be submerged from 
notice in our disposition to emphasize the objective basis of 
our emotion rather than the mental experience in which 
it is apprehended." 

This matter will become clearer if we consider certain 
facts in the constitution of our bodies. The several organs 
of the body fall into two groups broadly distinguished as to 
their general functions. I. There is a group of organs the 
general function of which is to effect adjustments between 
the organism and the external environment. 2. There is a 
group which have for their function the carrying on of cer- 
tain vital processes within the body, such as respiration, 
digestion, circulation of the blood and secretion. The first 
group falls into two distinct classes. (1) There are certain 
parts of the organism which are adapted to the purpose of 
apprising us of the qualities and location of the objects with 
which we have to do in the environment. Under this head 
come the several senses — the organs of sight, hearing, 
touch, taste, smell. (2) There are certain parts which are 
adapted to act upon the objects of the external environment, 
either for the purpose of modifying them or changing the 
relations of the body to them. Among these organs are the 
legs and feet, the arms and hands. To this class belong also 
the organs of mastication, and in it also may be included the 
vocal organs and the facial muscles. 

Now fix attention upon these two divisions of the first 
group. When through any of the senses the organism re- 
ceives a stimulus and the impulse which the stimulus excites 



FEELING 73 

passes into immediate, full and unhindered expression 
through the organs whose function it is to act upon the 
external environment there is little or no feeling. Feeling 
proper arises when the impulse is more or less checked, hin- 
dered from immediate and full expression through those 
channels — i.e., when it is deflected and causes a reaction 
in the muscles connected with the second general group of 
functions. The impulse thus deflected causes a tension in 
the vital organs which carry on the processes of digestion, 
respiration, circulation of the blood and secretion; and this 
tension is interpreted in consciousness as pleasant or un- 
pleasant. If the reaction is purely reflex or instinctive, i.e., 
if the impulse passes into motor expression absolutely un- 
checked, it will hardly be conscious at all. It is true that 
reflex actions, and especially instinctive actions, are fre- 
quently reported in consciousness; but they are not con- 
trolled by consciousness ; and that one is conscious of them 
at all is probably due to the fact that the nerve current as 
it passes over the reflex arc often radiates to other parts of 
the nervous system and produces consciousness as a " by- 
product." We may say, then, that just in so far as the 
impulse is restrained from immediate and full expression 
in reflexive reaction and is converted into organic tension it 
will become conscious, and pleasantly or unpleasantly con- 
scious according to conditions. However, this is true only 
within limits; for as we shall see later on, the organic dis- 
turbances may become so great as to result in unconscious- 
ness. The deflection of the impulse and its partial or com- 
plete conversion into tension of the vital organs result from 
the conflict of motor tendencies due to the more complex 
structure of the higher organisms and to the accumulation 
of the effects of past individual experience, as set forth in 
the above quotation from Angell. 

We may conclude, then, that unrestrained external motor 
manifestation is not a sign of deep or intense feeling-tones. 
Ribot remarks, " It is a sort of psychological law that the 
intensity of consciousness should vary inversely as the in- 



74 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tensity of the movement produced." x Intense feeling is the 
accompaniment of restrained, controlled, regulated motor 
manifestation. Cultivated persons whose physical expres- 
sions are restrained and controlled feel more deeply, i.e., 
have a deeper conscious realization of the meaning of their 
experiences, other things being equal, than uncultivated per- 
sons who practise little self-restraint. Undiscriminating 
people often make serious mistakes as to this. As a rule it 
is not the person who is leaping or clapping his hands who 
really feels the joy or grief most keenly, but the quiet, self- 
controlled person at his side, in whom conflicting and mu- 
tually hindering motor tendencies are aroused, resulting in 
a temporary state of organic tension and suspended action 
until rational processes intervene, resolve the conflict and 
release the impulse through the selected motor channel, or 
else inhibit it altogether. The public speaker who aims to 
produce these stormy demonstrations should be apprised 
of the fact that in effecting such results he is missing the 
higher and more serious practical end, since the impulse 
created by his appeal, instead of moving centrally the per- 
sonality of the hearer, simply takes the form of an imme- 
diate reflexive muscular reaction unattended by any deep 
and keen realization of its meaning. But the worst of it is 
that the inhibitive capacity of the organism has thus been 
weakened, and this capacity is the very basis of the possibility 
of deep feeling. The capacity for deep feeling is cultivated 
by self-restraint. In a word, demoralization and the dis- 
integration of the personality result from the failure to re- 
strain the impulses. 

Of course, the foregoing statements as to the relative 
depth and intensity of the conscious side of feeling in per- 
sons of low and of high mental development should not be 
taken without qualification. " Other things being equal," 
we have said. But other things are not always equal. Peo- 
ple, for instance, differ from one another widely in their 
natural sensibility; and for that matter the sensibility of 

1 " The Psychology of the Emotions," p. 224. 



FEELING 75 

the same person is not always the same. It may happen 
that the cultivated person is naturally of dull sensibility, and 
that the uncultivated person has naturally very keen sen- 
sibility. In that case the natural difference may overbal- 
ance the cultural difference. Of course, if the quietness of 
the cultivated individual is not the result of self-restraint 
but of naturally dull sensibility, the lack of external demon- 
stration is not the sign of deep conscious feeling; but then 
the internal organic tension will be absent. The point is 
that external demonstration and inward organic tension are 
generally in inverse proportion to one another. When the 
organic tension becomes so great that it cannot be con- 
trolled, it relieves itself through the external demonstration ; 
the point at which the control breaks down is high or low 
according to the degree of the mental development, and the 
feeling-tone is proportionate to the internal tension. It can- 
not be questioned, therefore, that, given equal natural sen- 
sibility, the quiet, self-restrained person has the deeper con- 
scious feeling response to a stimulus of the same intensity. 
It should be borne in mind, too, that culture normally tends 
to develop the natural sensibility, as it does all other capac- 
ities. In general, the statement unquestionably holds good 
that quietness and self-possession in exciting situations indi- 
cate intense rather than weak feeling-tones. 

6. An important question now to be considered is, why 
do some experiences cause pleasant and others unpleasant 
states of consciousness? In order to answer this question 
we must remember that every conscious being begins its 
existence with a very complex organization. First, there is 
the organization which it inherits as a member of the race 
to which it belongs, wherein it is constituted like all other 
members of its race. In the second place, it has stamped 
upon it at the beginning of its existence certain individual 
characteristics, due, perhaps, in part, to the conditions under 
which its generation took place, though it is not possible to 
give an adequate explanation of individual variations. 
These special characteristics of its individual organization 



j6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

will, as a rule, be more marked — i.e., the individuals of a 
race will at birth be more sharply differentiated from one 
another in their peculiar organization — the more highly 
developed the race is and the more varied and complex the 
life-conditions of the race are. Men, for instance, are 
probably more highly differentiated from one another at the 
very beginning of individual life than the lower animals are. 
But, in the third place, the individual organism thus 
equipped at birth has the capacity to acquire habits, to re- 
ceive relatively permanent modifications of its general struc- 
ture, and especially of its nervous organization, resulting 
from its individual experience. Man's capacity in this re- 
spect is immeasurably above that of the lower orders of 
life, and the variations among men in this respect also are 
far greater than in inferior species. Of course, the term 
" organization " should not be understood in the static, but 
in the dynamic sense; it should not be taken as indicating 
simply or mainly a fixed adjustment of parts to one another, 
but functionally as referring to regular and correlated modes 
of the operation of vital forces. There is in the organism a 
more or less fixed relation and proportion of physical parts ; 
but the more significant thing in its constitution is that the 
vital processes or reactions are related to one another in 
regular and characteristic ways. Now, this correlation of 
the vital processes is different in different organisms ac- 
cording to their constitution and acquired habits. We must 
bear in mind, in the third place, that processes of activity 
are going on in the adjustment of the organism to its en- 
vironment. These current activities are largely under the 
control of the organic and acquired tendencies; but not 
wholly so, for in that case it would be impossible to acquire 
habits at all. They are in some measure guided by intel- 
ligence, i.e., they are voluntary. Their function is the 
adaptation of the organism to a complex and changing en- 
vironment, and they result in the further organization of 
the life. The organization of rational beings is not com- 
plete, and the organization is proceeding in these voluntary, 



feeling yy 

intelligently guided activities. We have, then, the inherited 
organic constitution and functions; these inherited charac- 
teristics as modified by habits acquired; and these, in turn, 
undergoing modification by voluntary processes from mo- 
ment to moment. It is obvious, therefore, that the condi- 
tions of feeling are both obscure and extremely complicated. 
" Emotions/' says Angell, " are extremely complex proc- 
esses, so far at least as the organic activities which condi- 
tion them. In emotions we are not only conscious of the 
emotional object, as in ordinary perceptual acts, we are also 
overwhelmed by a mass of sensational and affective elements 
brought about by the intra-organic activities of our own 
musculature.'' He makes this remark with reference to the 
definite and distinctive emotions discussed above; but it is 
also manifestly true of all our feeling experiences. Indeed, 
it is probably more difficult to analyze the organic proc- 
esses involved in the less definite and pronounced feelings 
than those involved in the emotions proper. 

Now, when some experience occurs which brings about a 
change in these vital processes and the change is of sufficient 
moment to be taken notice of in consciousness, it is regis- 
tered there either as pleasant or unpleasant. // it quickens, 
or promotes or intensifies a vital process it is felt as pleas- 
ant; if it arrests or retards or represses a vital process it is 
felt as unpleasant. From this point of view we may get an 
idea as to why so few, comparatively, of our experiences 
have pure or unmixed feeling-tones. Let us suppose that a 
habit represents a partial arrest of an organic vital process. 
The indulgence of the habit will give pleasure; but it will 
be accompanied by a more or less vague undertone of un- 
pleasantness ; which is certain to be the case unless the habit 
has become so inveterate as to cause a permanent modifica- 
tion of the organic process, and even then a close scrutiny of 
consciousness would doubtless discover that the pleasure 
was not entirely unmixed. If a voluntary activity runs 
counter to an organic tendency, the unpleasantness will 
likely be pronounced. Often, however, an acute feeling of 



yS PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

unpleasantness resulting from interference with a vital 
process of the organism by indulgence of a pleasant habit 
follows rather than accompanies the disturbing act. The 
pleasure afforded by the indulgence completely drowns out 
the organic protest at the moment; but after the pleasure is 
gone, the organism reacts, to the general discomfort of the 
transgressor. A momentary activity which runs counter to 
an habitual process is likewise felt as decidedly disagreeable, 
although the activity may be such as to give great pleasure 
by reason of its coincidence with some other tendency. 
The feeling-tone is mixed. Thus by reason of the varying 
and often conflicting influences of natural vital processes, 
habits and current activities, it comes to pass that few of our 
experiences are without mixed feeling-tones. However, 
our feelings are so variable, and usually are so complicated 
and blended, so difficult to follow by introspection in their 
manifold transformations, that a detailed analysis of the 
physical and psychical conditions of the compound feeling- 
tone is quite impossible. 

But it is of great practical importance to bear in mind that 
pleasantness and unpleasantness simply represent the 
stimulation and the arrest of the vital processes characteris- 
tic of the actual status or activity of the organism at a given 
time. Feeling has an indispensable function to perform in 
the life of an organism. The significance of that function 
may be greatly over-estimated or greatly under-estimated; 
and the knowledge is not of more importance to any one 
than to him who undertakes to guide the development of the 
religious life. The function of feeling is, first, to advertise, 
to put the organism on notice that a given experience either 
quickens or represses subtile vital processes going on in it. 
In the second place, its function is to influence action. 
There is never any action — that is, intelligent, voluntary 
action — without feeling. To be without feeling is to be 
destitute of preferences, values, standards, motives — to be 
entirely indifferent to all possible considerations alike. It is 
apparent, however, that while feeling plays a most important 



FEELING 79 

role in life, it is entirely inadequate as a guide for life. That 
an experience gives pleasure means nothing more than that 
it falls in with some present vital or habitual tendencies 
and processes of the organism ; and that it causes unpleas- 
antness means only that it runs counter to some such tend- 
encies and processes. Those tendencies and processes may 
need to be encouraged or to be restrained, judged by stand- 
ards established in universal human experience ; but as to 
this the present feeling can give no trustworthy verdict. 
Feeling is at once indispensable and inadequate for the 
proper guidance of life. 

7. The relation of feeling to desire. Desire in itself is 
neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant state of consciousness, 
but it is accompanied by a compound feeling-tone in which 
both pleasantness and unpleasantness are found. Desire is 
the nisus, the conscious reaching or straining of the or- 
ganism toward a possible situation which it is believed would 
afford more satisfaction than the actual one. On the one 
side there is a sense of discomfort or maladjustment asso- 
ciated with the actual situation; on the other there is the 
mental image of a possible situation in which the adjustment 
would be more satisfactory, and this mental image is asso- 
ciated with pleasure. Sometimes the unpleasant tone is 
dominant in the consciousness of desire and sometimes the 
pleasant. Two conditions determine which tone is domi- 
nant. It depends in part upon the vividness of the image 
of the actual situation as compared with the vividness of the 
image of the possible situation. If the former is more vivid 
at the moment, the unpleasant tone predominates ; if the lat- 
ter, the pleasant tone. But it is also conditioned by the 
sense of the possibility of the anticipated situation. If its 
possibility is strong and near, that tends to give predom- 
inance to the pleasant tone ; if weak and remote, it tends to 
reduce the pleasant tone. If the sense of its absolute im- 
possibility possesses the consciousness, the desire dies. De- 
sire cannot live except as it feeds upon the possibility of 
realizing the desirable thing ; the possibility must be believed 



80 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in, or at least assumed for the time being. As the possibility 
becomes more and more remote, the desire becomes weaker 
and weaker, fading to a wish, which itself can live only as 
the wished-for object is thought of as possible, for the ob- 
vious reason that if it ceases to be thought of as possible it 
will cease to hold the serious attention, and the wish will 
be extinguished as a feebly burning candle when, like a 
snuffer, the sense of absolute impossibility settles down over 
it. A boy who has a disagreeable task desires to go to a 
ball game. His attention alternates between the actual dis- 
agreeable situation and the contemplated agreeable one, and 
his heart beats faster or slower as now one and now the 
other stands at the focus of attention ; there is a rapid 
change in the predominant tone of pleasantness or unpleas- 
antness in his mixed feeling. By and by he is informed by 
an unrelenting father that he cannot go ; the desire fades out 
into a wish as from time to time he thinks of going as if it 
were possible, until at last his mind is permanently diverted 
from it. 

Desire, then, is characterized by a difference of feeling- 
tones connected with the mental representations of two 
situations, one actual the other possible. To arouse desire, 
therefore, it is necessary " to work upon the feelings," to 
hold before the mind in which the desire is sought to be 
awakened a possible situation which promises more satis- 
faction than the present one. But whether the portrayal 
of a possible situation will promise more satisfaction to a 
given mind depends upon the actual organization of that 
mind. It must fall in with, quicken or promote certain vital 
processes of that organism which are more central or at 
any rate more dominant in it than the organic tendencies 
which find stimulation in the actual state of things. For 
this reason it is apparent that in the effort to lift men to a 
higher moral state an appeal based upon the emotion of 
fear is often justifiable. It creates dissatisfaction with the 
actual moral status, but does not arouse a desire for a higher 
status per se. It creates a desire to break with evil habits 



FEELING 8l 

because the final results of vice, foreseen as a certain future 
situation, outweigh in unpleasantness the pleasure of in- 
dulgence and are more disagreeable than the practice of 
virtue. While justifiable, therefore, in dealing with persons 
of low moral development, its immediate results are only 
negative; and, as negative in results, the appeal to fear is 
of little permanent value except as it may open the way for a 
subsequent effective appeal to a different class of feelings. 
However, often when dissatisfaction with the evil moral 
status has been produced, a proper representation of virtue 
may awaken desire for it on its own account; because it 
may be so represented as to fall in with certain tendencies 
and processes, which, though they may be inhibited or sup- 
pressed by the opposite tendencies that have been greatly 
strengthened by bad habits, seem never to be wholly ex- 
tirpated from the normal human being. But it is quite pos- 
sible to paint virtue in such colours as to make it repulsive, or 
at least unattractive. The ideal which charms the soul of a 
saint is without any effective appeal to the average man of 
the world. The contemplation of it will arouse in him no 
pleasure ; or if it starts a faint echo of pleasant emotion, it 
is apt to impress him with a sense of impossibility which kills 
desire. This phase of experience will be considered more 
at length in another chapter; our purpose here is to em- 
phasize the fact that feeling lies at the basis of desire and 
that feeling has its basis in the vital organization as given 
at birth and modified by subsequent experience. 

8. Feeling and habit. It is of great practical impor- 
tance to note the effect upon feeling of the repetition of 
any experience. In general the effect tends to diminish with 
repetition, and this tendency is marked when the repetition 
occurs at regular intervals. One " becomes used to it," in 
common parlance. The organism ever tends to adapt itself 
to its environment. Strictly speaking, the organism comes 
by degrees to be permanently modified by the repeated ex- 
perience, a vital habit grows up corresponding to that ex- 
perience ; its occurrence ceases by degrees to be recorded in 



82 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

consciousness and therefore to call forth less and less feel- 
ing; and after a while its cessation will call forth an un- 
pleasant feeling-tone. In this way an acquired taste is 
formed and a craving for a certain kind of stimulus. One's 
daily life affords so many confirmations of the statement 
that it needs no demonstration. 

But daily experience also presents certain facts which do 
not seem to conform to this law, and which require explana- 
tion. On examination they appear to be only apparent 
exceptions. For instance, one may be so situated that he 
hears a noise repeated at intervals. At first it may excite 
very little feeling at all ; but its repetition attracts attention, 
and, as the attention is directed towards it, becomes increas- 
ingly pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. By reason 
of the direction of the attention to it the sensibility of the 
organism to that particular sound is heightened for a time 
and the pleasure or displeasure which it causes grows 
greater with repetition during that time. In this way a 
morbid state of extreme sensibility may be induced, and a 
noise (or any other stimulus) which at first was practically 
indifferent may come to excite a high degree of feeling. It 
constitutes, however, only an apparent exception to the law 
of adaptation stated above. The repetition produces more 
intense feeling for a time only because on account of the 
special conditions the normal sensibility of the organism to 
that stimulus is temporarily increased ; and all the while the 
law of adaptation has been operating, and when the special 
causes which produced the abnormal sensibility have ceased 
to operate, it will be found that the feeling response to that 
experience will be less in proportion to the number of times 
it has been repeated. Habit has supervened, and in order 
to secure a feeling response equal to the first one it is neces- 
sary to increase the strength of the stimulus about in propor- 
tion to the number of repetitions. Exactly what the ratio 
is experimental Psychology has not been able to state with 
precision. It seems that the strength of the stimulus must 
be increased in something like geometrical ratio. This is 



FEELING 83 

a fact of transcendant importance to those whose special 
occupation it is to persuade men to action, which of neces- 
sity involves appeals to the feelings. 

How often does the preacher find his congregation grow- 
ing more unresponsive to an appeal which once was effec- 
tive with them ! And this explains why it is that he so often 
finds it necessary to employ other means for the purpose of 
inducing in his hearers a heightened state of susceptibility 
to an old appeal in order to secure a response which afore- 
time came so readily. How often does the politician find 
his audiences listening with increasing coldness to phrases 
and slogans which once seemed to open as by magic the 
flood-gates of political passion ! In such cases the preacher 
and the politician may not realize how effectively the law 
of adaptation has been at work in their own souls also ; are 
not aware that the same series of ideas which they are re- 
peating to less responsive hearers no longer evoke in their 
own hearts the same sincerity and depth of feeling. From 
this point of view we may understand better the causes 
which are impelling so many preachers, especially evangel- 
ists, to the employment of " sensational " methods. These 
adventitious and sometimes questionable devices may serve 
the purpose of inducing for the time being a heightened sen- 
sibility to worn-out appeals to feeling, but the law of adap- 
tation cannot be successfully evaded, as the extraordinary 
unresponsiveness of people who have been often influenced 
by these methods abundantly shows; and the constant em- 
ployment of such means of inducing temporary sensibility 
only makes more precipitous the way that leads down to 
absolute insensibility. 

9. The strength of the stimulus as related to the feel- 
ing-tone. (1) It takes a stimulus of a certain strength to 
awaken consciousness at all; and persons differ in this re- 
spect as to different stimuli. But after a stimulus has 
passed the threshold of consciousness, its strength deter- 
mines the character of the feeling-tone it awakens. (2) A 
stimulus of a certain strength may awaken a pleasant feel- 



84 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ing-tone, but if increased beyond a certain point it will pro- 
duce unpleasantness, because it then becomes obstructive of 
vital processes, disturbing and disorganizing in tendency. 
(3) And there is a point beyond which an emotion, pleasant 
or unpleasant, will produce unconsciousness, because it over- 
taxes the power of the organism, exhausts the vital energy 
of the nervous system, or of those parts of it which are 
directly involved. (4) Strong emotion of any kind involves 
a rapid consumption of nervous energy; and after it has 
passed leaves the organism apathetic. If the exhaustion has 
been profound and general — and this, of course, is more 
likely to result from excessive unpleasant emotion — the 
organism will fall into a state of indifference to all stimuli. 
There will be for a time a general incapacity for feeling of 
any kind. (5) If the exhaustion has been partial, involving 
only certain parts of the nervous system or certain vital 
processes, there is likely to be for a time an apathetic unre- 
sponsiveness to the particlar class of stimuli which called 
forth the excessive emotion and also to those of the same 
general tendency ; but there may be an abnormal responsive- 
ness to stimuli of the opposite type. A period of excessive 
joy is almost certain to be followed by a period of depres- 
sion in which there will be an unusual sensibility to all sug- 
gestions of unhappiness and sorrow. A period of optimism 
in business has its inevitable sequence of pessimism or of 
panic. A period of extreme exaltation of the religious feel- 
ings will be followed by a time of indifference or of laxity, 
of unbelief or worldliness, as surely as the night follows 
the day. (6) Indeed, the indulgence of excessive emotions 
is most demoralizing, no matter what interest arouses them. 
It tends towards the disorganization of the personality, and 
is altogether inconsistent with the development of a high 
type of character. In politics it is a great hindrance to the 
development of a high and stable social order. In religion 
it is no less injurious than in other spheres of life; it is 
inconsistent with the attainment of the high ethical aims of 
Christianity. It is noteworthy that politics and religion are 



FEELING 85 

the two spheres in which this demoralization is most likely 
to appear, because one's political and religious convictions 
and ideals are so personal and subjective, so thoroughly 
steeped in feeling. In those spheres, and particularly in re- 
ligion, the feelings are of fundamental importance, but for 
that very reason are sources of immeasurable danger. In 
normal conditions moderate feelings are always to be pre- 
ferred. They are more healthy ; the reaction is never severe 
or dangerous. The arousing of abnormally high emotion 
is never justifiable except in dealing with abnormal condi- 
tions, and should then be regarded as a temporary expedient 
to be discontinued as soon as normal conditions can be re- 
stored. The preachers who aim at high emotional effects, 
as being in themselves valuable, should be apprised of the 
fact that such demonstrations result as a rule only in weak- 
ening the foundations of moral order in society by derang- 
ing the mental organization of the individuals who are the 
subjects of their exploits. 

In saying this there is no intention to discount the import- 
ance of feeling. On the contrary, that function is of prime 
importance as a guide in the adjustment of the organism to 
its environment, but manifestly it is not of itself sufficient 
for this purpose. Feeling announces a present fact, it does 
not look ahead. Grant Allen's statement — " neither pleas- 
ure nor pain is prophetic " — is a most important truth. 
Only in the simplest possible situation, only in a matter of 
immediate and momentary interest, is feeling by itself a 
safe guide for action. As life conditions become more com- 
plex, as the ends of activity become higher and more re- 
mote, as the series of means to ends grow longer and more 
complicated, it becomes increasingly necessary that emotion 
be controlled and directed, that it may not lead to the de- 
struction rather than the promotion of the life. Control 
and direction are functions of the rational powers. As long 
as emotion remains under the control and direction of the 
reason it is not excessive, no matter how intense and strong 
it may be ; and it clearly depends upon the strength and sta- 



86 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

bility of the controlling faculty whether a stimulus of a 
given strength will awaken an uncontrollable emotion or not. 
The point at which an emotion of a given strength will 
break the leash of reason is not the same in all persons. 
For one person, therefore, a stimulation of a given strength 
may be excessive, and for another not. 

In religion especially the emotions should not run wild, 
but should be kept under control of reason. In that sphere 
one has to do with very powerful emotions which spring 
from the fundamental instincts; the conditions under which 
those emotions must determine action are extremely com- 
plex, comprehending all the more obscure as well as all the 
more obvious factors of one's total life-situation; the end 
towards which it is their function to impel is the highest 
and most remote of our existence, viz. : the attainment of 
ultimate individual perfection in harmony with the uni- 
verse. In a word, religion is the supreme, most complicated 
and far-reaching problem of life. If in the ordinary tasks 
of every-day life emotions which are less deeply rooted in 
the foundations of personality and which work in a limited 
set of conditions, towards the attainment of proximate and 
secondary ends need to be directed and controlled by intel- 
ligence in order to avoid disaster, how much more should 
reason be kept firmly regnant in its directive function in 
religion ? 

io. Intelligence and the enrichment of the emotional life. 
Besides the general effect of intensifying the feeling-tones, 
as above suggested, growing intelligence has other important 
effects upon the character of the feelings. 

In the first place, the wider the range of ideas the more 
numerous are the available stimuli which produce feeling, 
and the richer, therefore, becomes the emotional life. It is 
not alone one's perceptions or immediate experiences which 
arouse emotion. In mental images, ideas, there is available 
a store of representative experiences, each with its appro- 
priate emotional colouring, which is limited only by the ex- 
tent, variety and clearness of one's knowledge and the con- 



FEELING 87 

structive power of one's imagination. It is true that ordi- 
narily the primary sensational experiences evoke a keener 
feeling than the images, the secondary and representative 
experiences ; but this is not by any means always the case. 
In any case the advantage is all with the person who pos- 
sesses a wealth of ideas. His primary experiences will not 
be the fewer on account of his intellectual culture ; and the 
higher organization of the mind which is developed in the 
building up of an extensive system of ideas implies the in- 
creasing activity of those inhibitive processes which are the 
condition of more intense feeling-tones in these experiences. 
In addition, the numerous mental images at the disposal of 
his memory and imagination afford the opportunity for a 
correspondingly large number of emotional experiences, 
which may be of moderate or strong intensity according to 
conditions. The practical value of this resource for the en- 
richment of the life of feeling is incalculable. We have but 
to recall John Bunyan in the Bedford jail to realize how, 
even with a comparatively limited range of ideas, a vivid and 
constructive imagination could convert a filthy dungeon life 
into a pilgrim's march to glory. The invalid shut up within 
four walls with no out-look upon the world save that af- 
forded by the window-casement, may yet by means of 
abundant knowledge live a life of infinitely more varied 
emotional interest than the most busy participant in the 
world's activity, if the latter's mind is an ignorant waste, 
barren of ideas. It is, perhaps, the saddest of the many sad 
penalties of ignorance that it restricts so narrowly the range 
of emotional stimuli and thus limits so disastrously the 
interest of life. Life becomes, comparatively speaking, a 
Sahara of meaningless routine, with only here and there a 
bubbling spring of feeling in the midst of a narrow oasis of 
palms. A great thinker picks up a pebble on the beach, 
and as he examines it trains of ideas are started which lead 
him to exclaim in a transport of holy joy, " O God, I think 
thy thoughts after thee ! " The ignoramus treads that peb- 
ble under his feet without a remote suggestion of an emo- 



88 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tional thrill. A group stand upon the mountain brow gazing 
at the sunset. The souls of some of them are borne away 
on a deep tide of aesthetic and religious emotions ; others of 
them chatter, or giggle, or blink stupidly at the glory. This 
poverty of emotional experience entailed by ignorance is no- 
where more evident or more lamentable than in the relig- 
ious life. If general culture had no other advantage for the 
religious character, there would be ample justification of 
the demand for education in the extension which it affords 
of the possible range of stimuli for the religious feelings. 

In the second place, culture involves a general elevation of 
the feelings, though this depends, of course, on the char- 
acter of the culture, i.e., upon the content of the mental 
system and the habits of mental activity formed in its devel- 
opment. Tichenor says, " Affection depends primarily upon 
the total disposition or arrangement of consciousness," x and 
Angell remarks, " Emotions are not dependent upon bodily 
conditions alone for a soil favourable to their development. 
. . . But another circumstance must be added, if we are to 
include all the conditioning factors. This additional con- 
sideration is found in trains of ideas which possess our con- 
sciousness at any moment, and particularly in those general 
habits of thought and reflection which characterize our more 
distinctly intellectual life." 2 It is clear, then, that a high 
degree of culture must profoundly modify our emotional 
life, not only in the way of intensifying its salient incidents 
and in the multiplication of available emotional stimuli, but 
in the elevation of the feelings ; for culture is the process of 
developing the organism into a higher and more complex 
organization in which it becomes more variously responsive 
to its environment, and at the same time responsive, not only 
to its crude physical, but also to its ideal factors. For we 
must remember that the environment of a human being is 
not simply the limited, bare, crude world which we immedi- 
ately come in contact with through the bodily senses and to 

1 " Text Book of Psychology," p. 258. 
2 " Psychology," p. 336. 



FEELING 89 

which the reflexes and instincts give us our primary adapta- 
tion; but it is the universe as it has been penetrated, ex- 
plored, investigated, organized and interpreted by the col- 
lective activity of men throughout the ages. The ignorant 
man's mental organization correlates him only with the 
cruder, more obvious and sensuously insistent elements of 
this universe, and his emotional life must be of a correspond- 
ing order. The mental organization of the cultured man 
correlates him, according to the grade of his culture, with 
a broader realm of that universe and with aspects of it that 
do not so immediately force themselves on the senses — 
with the achievements of men in modifying its crude ele- 
ments to serve their practical and ideal ends, with the higher 
and fine interpretations of it which have been given by the 
thinkers, seers, poets and saints of the human race. Mani- 
festly the stimulus which perhaps awakens in the mind no 
emotional response at all or only an immediate and spas- 
modic motor reaction attended with little thought and a low 
intensity of feeling-tone, may evoke in a man of culture a 
long series of ideas to which his soul responds in an equally 
long series of feeling-tones, like a great organ under the hand 
of a master of harmonies. There is as much difference 
between the emotional life of a man of high culture and that 
of the rustic as between the harmonies that may be evoked 
from a modern grand pianoforte and the rude melodies 
struck from the ancient dulcimer. Ribot says that " a sav- 
age, even a barbarian, is not moved by the splendours oj^ civ- 
ilized life, but only by its petty and puerile sides." x The 
mental system of the savage is so poor in content and so low 
in organization that the most glorious achievements of civil- 
ization, its social institutions, its sciences, arts, philosophies, 
religions, call forth in him no ideational and, therefore, no 
emotional response, not even a healthy and stimulating 
wonder; and among the denizens of this civilization there 
are variations in emotional capacity, based upon the gra- 
dations of mental organization, which, without great exag- 

1 " The Psychology of the Emotions," p. 190. 



9<3 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

geration, may be said to lie all the way between the zenith 
and the nadir of the universe of feeling. 

n. But what bearing have these general truths upon the 
practical problems in which we are especially interested? 

(i) As already hinted, they give a mighty emphasis to 
the value of culture in religious life. In the first place, 
especially is this true with reference to the preacher him- 
self. The lack of culture in the pulpit may not be fatal to 
a certain effectiveness. The man of low mental organiza- 
tion is able to move his hearers of the same mental grade 
along the level of his own emotional life; but the poverty 
of his emotional life leaves him but poorly equipped for the 
very important task of developing in them higher and finer 
types of religious experience. Moreover, it leaves him in 
large measure insulated from the large and growing com- 
munity of cultured minds, who often are in sad need of 
religious inspiration. The crudeness of his emotional life 
repels them. To a large extent he is incapacitated to be- 
come their religious inspirer and guide. He lacks the ability 
to lead those on the lower levels towards the upper alti- 
tudes of the religious experience, and also the ability to lead 
those of higher culture to their appropriate service of the 
uncultivated. In the largest sense of that noble word, his 
pastoral function is in the main a failure ; for to be a " pas- 
tor " surely means something more than to be an adminis- 
trator of the machinery of the church organization and a 
kindly visitor in the homes of the people. It means to be 
a feeder of the people, an inspirational force in their lives, to 
develop as far as possible the whole range of their emotional 
capacities, and especially to organize their entire emotional 
life around the great truths of religious faith and to harness 
these dynamic factors in suitable ways to the inspiring task 
of Christianity — the building of a social order of which 
mutual service in self-realization shall be the organic prin- 
ciple. 

If, on the other hand, we consider the matter from the 
point of view of his own personality, this sad limitation of 



FEELING 91 

his effectiveness in his proper function is evidence of the 
fact that his own religious life is poor, barren and destitute 
of the spiritual riches that might be his ; for, looked at sub- 
jectively, spiritual values consist in the emotional realiza- 
tion of spiritual verities. 

(2) While culture lifts the religious feelings to higher 
levels, it contributes also another important advantage. It 
tends to bring about a more even, regular, continuous flow 
of the feelings in general. In a man of low mental organ- 
ization life tends to differentiate into two clearly marked 
types of experience. On the one hand, his ordinary re- 
actions are on the habitual plane, and are attended by states 
of dim and diffused consciousness. His daily life is a 
monotonous series of actions controlled for the most part 
by simple reflexes, instincts and habits. On the other hand, 
his emotional life is likely to be in strong contrast with 
this habitual regularity, i.e., to be of the discontinuous, 
ebullient type. As a whole his life will be characterized 
by stretches of dreary, feelingless monotony punctuated 
at irregular intervals by outbursts of excessive emotional 
manifestation, attended by what, in comparison with his 
ordinary experiences, may be called intense states of con- 
sciousness. This is certainly true of the religious life 
of this class of people. In the man of culture, on 
the contrary, reflexes, instincts and habits play a large 
role, indeed ; but in his ordinary activities these unconscious 
or partially conscious controls of conduct are not nearly 
so dominant. To a far greater extent they are in him modi- 
fied by the rational processes. And while his ordinary 
reactions are thus lifted in large measure above the merely 
habitual plane, his emotional life tends to move with fewer 
violent variations or fluctuations along a general level. 
Other things equal, he is less spasmodic in his feelings. 
The very multiplicity and variety of the emotional stimuli 
which play their part in his experience conduce to this result, 
and so does the higher complexity of his mental organiza- 
tion with its mutually inhibiting motor tendencies. These 



92 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

numerous and various stimuli acting continually upon or 
within the organism translate themselves into feelings of 
many shades and intensities ; and connected with these feel- 
ings are motives which afford more frequent and regular 
impulsions to action. The result is more constancy of 
rational activity in the sphere of life in which these feel- 
ings manifest themselves. We may expect, therefore, that 
in the sphere of religion culture will contribute to steadi- 
ness, continuity, orderliness of religious life, without reduc- 
ing it to the mere routine of formalism. Indeed it will not 
subtract from, but rather enhance its total emotional rich- 
ness. Other things being equal, the higher the culture the 
fewer and shorter will be the periods of spiritual dulness 
or stupor; the more uninterrupted will be the movement 
toward the realization of spiritual ideals. By the man of 
lower mental grade this undemonstrative continuity in the 
processes of the religious life may be misinterpreted as a 
lack of feeling, for the thoughtless are in the habit of 
measuring the feeling, the purely conscious side of emotion, 
solely by the quantity of the external motor exhibition. 
But we have seen the error involved in this standard of judg- 
ment. Spiritual frost does not settle upon the higher alti- 
tudes as frequently as upon the lowlands of life, reversing 
the order of physical nature. Upon the mountain tops of 
human development there is more of warmth, as well as of 
purity of air, than in the coves and valleys. 

It is easy for us to see from this point of view how 
intimately the development of religion in general is bound 
up with the progress of a broad, high and rounded culture. 
To be sure, there are types of culture which obstruct the 
development of religious life. Such types are one-sided 
and develop certain mental functions while they leave others 
neglected or atrophied, or even positively repress them. It 
is probably true, indeed, that any partial or fractional cul- 
ture, even that which singles out the distinctively religious 
functions for exclusive emphasis, will result in an abnormal 
and, therefore, undesirable religious development. It is the 



FEELING 93 

culture which develops the entire range of human capacities 
that brings the religious life to its highest fruition. In a 
word, the realization of the highest possible type of religious 
character will coincide with the realization of a perfect 
humanity. The promotion of a rounded and balanced cul- 
ture is, therefore, a most important function of the pulpit. 



CHAPTER V 

SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 

We are now in a position to discuss sentiments and ideals, 
matters of supreme importance to all public speakers, and 
especially to preachers, because they figure so largely in the 
religious life. They are here discussed together, because, 
though quite distinct, they have so much in common. 

I. We shall consider, first, the sentiments. 

i. As to the definition. To Mr. Alexander F. Shand, 
an eminent English psychologist, is due the credit of having 
first pointed out the important fact that, with the develop- 
ment of personality, the emotions are organized into sys- 
tems. These systems, into which the primary emotions are 
organized, he calls sentiments. 1 Following Shand, Mc- 
Dougall defines a sentiment as " an organized system of 
emotional tendencies centered about some object." 2 It is 
an obvious fact that as a personality develops it acquires 
more or less permanent and definite emotional attitudes 
towards various objects. The objects may be material 
things, animals, persons, groups of persons, institutions, or 
abstract principles. For example, one is almost certain to 
acquire a definite and more or less permanent emotional 
attitude towards a house in which he has lived ; or a dog 
which he owns ; or his mother, father, wife, child, friend, or 
enemy, etc.; or a particular city, state, nation, school, 
church, etc., or the principles of truth, justice, benevolence, 
selfishness, etc. When he sees such an object, or the mental 
image of it comes into his mind, certain feelings are aroused, 
either incipiently or in power. The tendency is always pres- 

1 See especially " The Foundations of Character," pp. 24-63. 

2 "An Introduction to Social Psychology," p. 122. 

94 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 95 

ent. These emotional attitudes or tendencies, when devel- 
oped into actual feelings may take a great many forms ac- 
cording to circumstances. For instance, if my favourite dog 
is hurt, I feel pity for the animal and, perhaps, anger towards 
the person who injured it. If my mother is absent, I feel a 
longing for her; if she is in danger, the emotion of fear 
is aroused in me; if she has died, to my longing is added 
deep grief. Likewise if one has acquired a strong love of 
justice and sees it violated, sympathy is aroused for the vic- 
tim of it and anger, or the moral form of it, indignation, for 
the perpetrator. These hypothetical examples are sufficient 
to make it apparent that the sentiment controls the primary 
emotions. It is not a feeling, but a disposition, a tendency 
to have certain feelings with respect to certain objects, ac- 
cording to circumstances. 

2. Classification of sentiments. Sentiments may be clas- 
sified according to the kinds of objects around which the 
emotional dispositions are organized, or according to the 
moral import of the reactions which they call forth. 

(i) According to the first principle of classification we 
have concrete or particular, and abstract or general senti- 
ments. The concrete sentiments may, as intimated in the 
preceding paragraph, be classified as those organized around 
(a) inanimate things, (b) living beings below the human 
level, (c) individual persons, either the self or other selves, 
(d) groups of persons, (e) individual institutions. Among 
abstract sentiments are, first of all, the emotional disposi- 
tions organized about generic institutions, using the term in 
a broad and somewhat indefinite sense — as, for instance, 
the Church considered not as any particular denomination 
or local body, but as organized Christianity ; or the State — 
not any special state, but organized political society; or 
Law — meaning not any specific law or code, but the formu- 
lated public will; or the Family — having reference not to 
any particular family, but to the organization of human 
beings on the basis of marital union ; or Property — not any 
one's personal possessions, but the social institution; and 



g6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

so on. A second class of abstract sentiments are those 
which have as their objects broad general principles of truth, 
or of conduct, or qualities of character. The well developed 
man has sentiments with respect to fair play, justice, cour- 
age, liberty, veracity, etc., and with respect to their oppo- 
sites. A person without such sentiments is a moral inverte- 
brate, i.e., he is on a low plane of moral development. 

Now if we analyse the sentiments which seem to be or- 
ganized around concrete objects, it will appear that many 
of them are really much more complex than they at first 
appear. For instance, one's sentiment for a particular 
house is quite likely to grow largely out of the human asso- 
ciations that cluster about it. One's feeling for an animal 
may be due to the fact that it has long been a pet in the 
household and recalls more or less distinct memories con- 
nected therewith. One's sentiment for a person may be 
organized not so much about his concrete individuality, per 
se, as around the principles he has stood for, the causes with 
which he has identified himself, his achievements — that is, 
about the social meaning of his personality. George Wash- 
ington was and is " first in the hearts of his countrymen," 
not because they have had immediate personal contact with 
him and love him for his simple individuality, and not alto- 
gether because they have come to know and love his indi- 
viduality through historical acquaintance with him, but be- 
cause he fought and suffered for his country's liberty and 
was the chief founder of the nation. A sentiment may be, 
and often is, thus compounded of several elements. Even a 
son's emotional attitude towards his own father may have 
its origin partly in the direct and immediate relations be- 
tween the two and partly in the son's conceptions of the 
father's broader experience with and relations to the world ; 
or the son may have developed the abstract sentiment for 
fatherhood, and this will modify his emotional attitude to- 
wards his own father. The sentiment for Jesus entertained 
by a Christian is organized around an individual person 
and has in it the feelings induced by his own personal experi- 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 97 

ence, but includes also his love of holiness, truth, benev- 
olence, self-sacrifice, and all that goes to make up his con- 
ception of moral and spiritual perfection as realized in Jesus. 
On the other hand, the abstract sentiments are built up out 
of the concrete and can hardly persist as vital elements of 
one's character except upon the basis of the concrete. If 
we do not love individual men our sentiment for humanity 
will hardly be kept alive. If our hearts do not respond 
properly to individual acts of justice or injustice, we shall 
not maintain a vigorous love of justice as an abstract prin- 
ciple. The sentiment for a thing may be due solely to its 
symbolicaLmeaning. Our country's flag arouses in us cer- 
tain emotions, but it does so not as a few square yards of 
bunting with red, white and blue colours upon it ; but because 
it is a symbol of all the glorious meaning our country has for 
us. After a voyage abroad the sight of the shores of our 
native land starts a tide of emotion, not because those rocks 
and cliffs and stretches of sandy beach are so much more 
attractive than other rocks, cliffs and beaches, but because 
they bring innumerable suggestions of personal experiences, 
of human associations and of national principles and ideals, 
which are of the very warp and woof of our lives. It is 
obvious that while we may classify sentiments as concrete or 
as abstract according to the objects to which they relate, 
many of them are very complex, and not a few are com- 
pounded of both factors. 

(2) According to the second principle of classification 
the sentiments are ranged in a scale of moral values. 

It should be said at once that there are no sentiments 
which are good or bad, per se, i.e., as feeling dispositions 
without respect to their objects. Our sentiments are tend- 
encies to be attracted to or repelled by certain objects; they 
are dispositions to feel in some of their forms, degrees and 
combinations with other feelings, the great generic emotions 
of tenderness and anger for objects. And attraction and re- 
pulsion, love and hate, are never in themselves wrong. 
Their moral significance all depends upon what attracts or 



98 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

repels, what is loved or hated. But while moral character 
can not be attributed to the sentiments per se, they are of the 
utmost ethical importance because in them our most impor- 
tant relations with the objects of our environment, and 
especially the persons and principles of our social environ- 
ment, are mainly determined ; and in those relations lies the 
very meaning of our moral and spiritual life. One's senti- 
ments, being his emotional attitudes, lie at the very centre of 
his personality and determine his conduct in his most mean- 
ingful reactions upon the objects outside himself, and even 
with respect to himself his conduct is determined by his 
sentiment for self. It is evident, therefore, that they are 
the fundamental elements of character and the supreme reg- 
ulators of conduct. Perhaps the most significant elements of 
personality are the sentiments. What objects does a man 
love, not temporarily and spasmodically, but what can he be 
counted on to have that feeling for whenever it, or the idea 
of it, is present to his mind ? What does he hate, not in un- 
related and capricious outbursts of anger, but what is it 
that regularly excites such an emotion in him whenever he 
has occasion to think of it? What does he reverence? 
What does he despise ? What does he honour ? What does 
he respect ? The answers to these and similar questions evi- 
dently disclose his character and indicate his conduct; and 
they are only the statement of his sentiments. Sentiments 
may be classified, then, as good or bad according to the 
objects around which they are organized. Our intuitions tell 
us that it is wrong to hate certain objects and wrong to love 
others. 

But it is equally evident that among sentiments that are 
approved by a healthy conscience not all are of equal moral 
value; and likewise among those which are properly dis- 
approved not all are of equal demerit. In both the positive 
and negative scales of moral value there are gradations of 
sentiments, according to the objects around which they are 
organized. Can we mark oft with clearness these grada- 
tions of the moral values of the sentiments? To attempt to 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 99 

do so in detail would lead into a hopeless tangle of casuisti- 
cal distinctions and controversies; but in a general way it 
can be done so as to be of some practical helpfulness. 

It is obvious, first, that attachment to a material thing or 
to an animal is not of equal moral rank with attachment to 
a person. A special feeling for a house or a dog manifestly 
does not have as high a moral significance as a special feeling 
for a human being. There are persons who seem to have a 
stronger and more highly developed sentiment for a partic- 
ular animal than they have for any person; but it surely 
requires no argument to show that it is abnormal and indi- 
cates a moral character that is either perverted or arrested 
in its development. Even when human associations are the 
chief factors in a sentiment organized about a material 
thing or an animal, though that fact elevates it in the scale 
of sentiments, we cannot attribute to it the same moral sig- 
nificance that we do to a sentiment for a human being. This 
is true, first, for the reason that things are inferior to moral 
personalities and can not have the same reaction upon 
those who assume an attitude toward them ; second, for the 
reason that sentiments for them ordinarily determine con- 
duct with respect to them only, or with respect to persons 
only as related to them, which means that an individual with 
sentiments so organized is in his feeling and conduct sub- 
ordinating fellow men to things that are lower in the scale 
of being. His moral life is turned upside down. 

In the second place, the sentiments we have for persons 
are not all of equal moral significance. Consider the senti- 
ments for one's self. One may have for one's self the senti- 
ment of self-love, pure and simple ; or the sentiment of self- 
respect, which is self-love blended with and controlled by the 
sentiment for personality as such, which involves a like re- 
spect for other personalities. This is unquestionably of a 
far higher moral order than the pure egoism of self-love. 
The child is egoistic ; as it becomes mature the self-love, un- 
less it is modified by the abstract sentiment for personality, 
will become selfishness ; or in so far as it manifests itself in 



100 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

a demand for an exaggerated respect on the part of others, 
egotism ; or when blended with admiration for self, pride or 
vanity. One's love for his father, or mother, or wife, or 
child, or friend, considered as a feeling-disposition in and by 
itself, is worthy of approval ; but is elevated by being blended 
with the abstract sentiment of regard for personality as 
such ; and if uncontrolled by the general sentiments of love 
of truth, justice, etc., may even lead to wrong moral conduct 
in our relations with other persons. Likewise one's love for 
his country is in itself a worthy feeling ; but it is lifted to a 
higher level when blended with the abstract sentiment of 
respect for the dignity of nationality, for this involves a 
corresponding respect for other national groups ; and unless 
the sentiment of patriotism is modified and held in restraint 
by supreme devotion to justice and humanity, it may lead 
to the perpetration of outrageous international wrongs. 
One's love for God, based upon the conviction that God has 
favoured or blessed or saved him, is good; but it is better 
when to it has been added reverence for the divine charac- 
ter as the embodiment of perfect truth, justice and love. 
This analysis might be pursued indefinitely, but enough has 
been said to indicate that our attachments to individual 
persons, groups or institutions are given a higher moral 
worth by combination with the loftier abstract sentiments. 

Now, surely if it is true of the sentiments which attach 
us to persons or groups, or institutions, that they should 
be controlled by the abstract or universal sentiments, it is 
far more true of the sentiments included in the generic 
attitude of hatred. The sentiments of repulsion, if per- 
mitted to run riot without such restraint, are thoroughly 
anti-social and would lead to the dissolution of society ; but 
when thoroughly subjected to the higher sentiments which 
are organized around universal principles of conduct, they 
become powerful motives to truly ethical conduct ; for then 
individual persons, groups and institutions are hated only as 
they are the embodiments of unethical principles of con- 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 101 

duct. There are no sentiments of love or admiration for 
the morally bad principles of conduct. Nobody loves in- 
justice, or inhumanity, or untruth, or any other abstract prin- 
ciple of conduct of an immoral or anti-social character, 
however often they may be led to the performance of indi- 
vidual acts or the assumption of individual attitudes of such 
a character under the impulsion of the concrete sentiments. 
And herein lies one of the distinguishing excellences of the 
abstract sentiments. Another excellence is that they are 
organized around general ideas, which means that in them 
the emotions are under the control of reason. They are 
lifted as far as possible above the instinct-controlled level 
of life. In them the instincts impel, but do not direct. 

It will be noted that the moral significance of only those 
abstract sentiments organized about principles of conduct 
has been considered. But what about the abstract senti- 
ments organized with respect to generic institutions? In- 
stitutions are the organized relations of men to one another ; 
and are, therefore, the embodiments of ethical principles. 
Our sentiments for them are blended with those organized 
with respect to moral principles. The generic institutions 
are idealizations of particular ones, and the sentiments or- 
ganized about them are never of an immoral or anti-social 
character ; and are of a more ideal character than those felt 
for particular institutions. Now, one does not have a sen- 
timent of attachment for a particular institution the anti- 
social character of which is apparent to him, and much less 
for a generic institution which is the idealization of a par- 
ticular one of this character. It is a notable fact that the 
institutions whose anti-social character is manifest are never 
defended except as necessary or unavoidable evils. An evil 
institution, such as the saloon or the brothel, does not inspire 
a sentiment of love or devotion even in the hearts of 
those whose material interests may lead them to defend its 
existence and extenuate its evil. And the tendency to ex- 
tenuate its evil while defending it as a necessary evil is sig- 



102 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

nificant ; it shows how contrary to nature it is to feel a senti- 
ment of devotion for an evil institution, and this is more 
emphatically true as to generic institutions. 

We have seen, then, two processes going on in the devel- 
oping personality. First, the primary emotions become or- 
ganized into sentiments or emotional dispositions ; and, sec- 
ond, with broadening experience and ripening intelligence 
abstract sentiments are built up on the basis of the concrete, 
and control or modify their action. The personality may, 
of course, be arrested in its development, and become per- 
manently organized around some concrete sentiment, even 
one of the lowest moral value; and it must be admitted that 
the abstract sentiments in many people never reach a high 
development, for this would require a correspondingly high 
development of the intelligence. But I am speaking only 
of the normal trend of development. 

3. We must turn now to the consideration of another 
most important process which goes on in the development of 
personality. Some one sentiment tends to become dominant 
and controlling in the whole system. The developing per- 
sonality tends toward unity and centralization, and some 
one sentiment becomes the focal point of the unity or the 
axis of centralization. As it becomes controlling, it tends 
to exclude or to dwarf all sentiments that are not consistent 
with it; and by monopolizing one's energy may weaken 
even those which are not inconsistent with, but only com- 
plementary to it. This is a matter of such great importance 
that we should dwell upon it at some length. To illustrate : 
a man has a feeling-disposition with regard to his own 
property, which within narrow limits is proper and right. 
If his personality is arrested in its development and comes 
to be organized permanently around that sentiment as 
dominant, a large number of sentiments of far higher 
order are excluded. The development of the corresponding 
abstract sentiment for property as a social institution may 
even be prevented. Then the character crystallizes in 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 103 

avarice. But suppose the abstract sentiment for private 
property as a generic institution is developed and becomes 
dominant, as there is reason to believe that it has done in 
the minds of many men of the present generation; such a 
person is lifted above avarice, but feels supremely the dig- 
nity and inviolability of the individual property right and is 
more quick to resent any supposed entrenchment upon or 
limitation of that right than any other. The destruction or 
confiscation of property — and he will see confiscation in all 
measures that tend to place restrictions upon the use of 
property according to pleasure by the individual or cor- 
porate owner — seems to him the highest crime and excites 
in him the most intense anger. Other human rights make 
but a feeble appeal to him at best, if they seem to conflict 
with this sacred right; and the danger is that he may lose 
a normal sense of the value of human life and happiness 
even when they are consistent with maintaining the sacred- 
ness of private property. Such a sentiment for private 
property is believed by many to have become so strong in 
modern life and to have become so deeply embedded in the 
organic law of modern states that it has dwarfed the feeling 
for the.sacredness of human life, liberty and happiness. The 
sentiment of justice — in the narrow sense of exact retribu- 
tion, or collective retaliation for individual offences — may 
become so dominant as to dwarf, if not destroy, the feeling 
of pity and the sense of brotherhood for the offender. The 
feeling of devotion to a particular church or denomination 
may become so strong in a person that it will absorb, so to 
speak, his emotional energy and seriously weaken his senti- 
ment of human brotherhood for those without its pale. Or 
the sentiment for the church as the generic institution of 
religion may come to dominate a man so thoroughly that he 
will cease to realize that it is only an instrument for the 
conservation and promotion of fundamental human in- 
terests. Further examples need not be added to show how 
universal is the tendency for one sentiment to dominate 



104 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

others and to become the supreme organizing principle of a 
personality. The emotional life always tends to centralize 
itself around one sentiment. 

But is not such a character onesided? And is onesided- 
ness of character inevitable? This raises the question, 
which has most important significance, both theoretical and 
practical, is there any one sentiment which correlates in 
due proportion all sentiments which can be morally ap- 
proved? If there be such a sentiment it would seem to be 
either the love for God or the love for humanity. But 
experience shows that the character dominated by the first 
tends to become absorbed in mystical contemplation and 
devotion, or in theological speculation and contention, ac- 
cording to temperament; and that the energy of the char- 
acter dominated by the second is expended in passionate 
lamentation over human woes, or in practical philanthropy, 
according to temperament. Both types of character are ex- 
cellent, but both are onesided — the very thing to be avoided. 
Neither the Jacob Boehmes nor the Abou ben Adhems are 
ideal characters. It is of striking significance that the 
supreme moral code of the ancient world embodied the two 
sentiments — love for God and love for one's neighbour — 
in two co-ordinate tables of the law. And it is of still 
greater significance that he who in the judgment of a major- 
ity of the most advanced peoples of the modern world was 
the supreme religious and moral example of the race sum- 
marized that ancient law in the two commandments : " Thou 
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy mind and soul 
and strength, and thy neighbour as thyself " ; and embodied 
these two sentiments in perfect co-ordination in his char- 
acter and conduct. It would seem, then, that the balanced 
and perfect type of human character is organized around 
these two great sentiments as co-ordinate. 

If we closely examine these sentiments we shall see that 
they not only supplement but enrich one another. The 
first, alone, or when it absorbs into itself the emotional 
energy of a person, tends to take the form of an emotional 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 105 

ecstasy or a mystical detachment from the world, both of 
which are deficient in ethical value. The second, alone, 
tends toward a conception of man which, while entirely 
ethical, is shallow, superficial, and inadequate in the appre- 
ciation of human dignity. Neither sentiment, therefore, 
comes to its full development without the other. Taken 
together, they constitute the two foci of the ellipse of per- 
fect character — the one attaching us to the infinite person 
to whom we are subordinate, the other to the finite persons 
with whom we are co-ordinate. Together they correlate in 
due proportion all the sentiments which can be morally 
approved, and organize the human character into a perfect 
unity. 

II. Let us turn now to consider ideals. As stated at the 
beginning of this chapter, our sentiments and ideals are 
closely related though distinct. 

1. Analysis. An ideal has been defined as "an image 
plus a meaning plus a strong emotional colouring." 1 This 
is true as far as is goes, but it does not go far enough. An 
ideal involves, first, an idea of a perfect type of any thing 
or state of things, any person or group of persons. Of 
course, this idea of perfection is an idea entertained by some 
person or persons; it is not strictly correct, therefore, to 
speak of perfect ideals, because the human conception of the 
perfect type of anything is necessarily a relative and chang- 
ing thing. Doubtless God's ideals are absolute ; but they are, 
of course, unknown to men except as they are stated in terms 
of human ideas, which are relative. Second, it involves a 
mental reference to, imperfect types, actual or possible, of 
the things or persons in question. If the idea of the perfect 
type is in the focus of attention, it is fringed with more or 
less distinct images of the imperfect specimens ; or if the lat- 
ter are in the centre of consciousness, the image of the per- 
fect is in the background. These images of the perfect and 
imperfect types constitute the intellectual factors of the ideal. 
Third, it involves a desire that the perfect type become 
1 Bagley, "Educational Values," p. 58. 



106 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

actual. As the attention centres upon the image of the per- 
fect a pleasant feeling-tone accompanies it ; as it centres 
upon the imperfect, an unpleasant feeling-tone. It is in this 
desire with its varying feeling-tones that the emotional fac- 
tors of the ideal are found. Perhaps this abstract analysis 
needs illustration. Let us suppose that a passionate lover of 
flowers takes a rose and exclaims, " This is an ideal rose." 
Manifestly he is contemplating what seems to him a rela- 
tively perfect specimen of that species of flower. But in call- 
ing it " ideal " he certainly has in the background of his mind 
the more or less distinct images of roses less perfect, and he 
has also some measure of desire that all roses should realize 
this beauty. He feels that this is a standard for all roses 
to be measured by ; that florists should seek to bring them all 
as nearly as possible up to this standard. In contemplating 
it as an ideal he has a feeling of satisfaction mixed, or alter- 
nating, with dissatisfaction at the imperfection of the 
specimens which fall below this standard. The same is true 
of one's ideal of personal character. He has in mind the 
image of a personality in which is embodied in relative per- 
fection those elements of character which seem to him 
good. In contrast with this image there are more or less 
distinct images of personalities that are in some respects 
inferior; and there is present the emotionally toned desire 
that they should realize the perfect type. Similar intellec- 
tual and emotional factors enter into all ideals, individual or 
social. 

These factors are, of course, very variable in their 
strength. As one contemplates the ideal, at one time the 
intellectual factors, the ideas, may be "very vivid and the 
desire with its feeling-tones may be at a minimum — re- 
duced to an almost colourless wish ; but at another time the 
emotional factors may be very powerful, rising into the 
strength of a passion,, while the intellectual processes in- 
volved may be very indistinct. They may vary also with 
respect to the different ideals which a person may cherish. 
It may be characteristic of some of one's ideals that they 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 107 

embody very distinct and vivid concepts with comparatively 
weak feelings; or very hazy concepts with very powerful 
emotions. I do not mean to imply by this form of state- 
ment that the intensities of the intellectual and emotional 
factors are necessarily in inverse ratio. That may be so, 
and I suspect that the tendency is that way ; but we are not 
justified in claiming that it always is and must be so. The 
point insisted on is that these factors may vary with respect 
to one's different ideals and with respect to the same ideal 
at different times. It is obvious, too, that they vary with 
the temperamental peculiarities of different persons. In 
some persons the intellectual factors are predominant in 
all mental processes, and in others the emotional factors. 
Perhaps it is for this reason that idealists and reformers 
usually divide into two classes : those who are chiefly inter- 
ested in formulating the concepts or ideas, and those who 
mainly devote their energies to striving for their actual 
embodiment — i.e., the intellectualists and the emotionalists. 
But it is important to bear in mind that both factors are 
always present in some proportion. 

2. An ideal is either a pure product of the constructive 
imagination, without any objective reality corresponding to 
it, or an image of an objective fact which actually embodies 
the highest conception one can form of that type of reality; 
that is, it may be a realized or an unrealized ideal. But like 
all constructions of the imagination, the unrealized ideal is 
based upon experience. The elements of which it is con- 
structed are found in the ideas of actual things. The un- 
realized ideal of a horse or a house is necessarily fashioned 
on the basis of one's knowledge of real horses or houses ; 
and one's social Utopia is based upon his acquaintance with 
actual social facts. Inevitably, therefore, our experience 
conditions and limits the formation of our ideals. This is 
true because our ideas — the intellectual factors of our 
ideals — are the products of experience, and can have no 
other origin. It is impossible for the child to have the same 
ideal in its intellectual factors as the adult; for one gen- 



108 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

eration to cherish the same social ideal as another, so far 
as definite concepts are concerned; for one person, indeed, 
to hold an ideal precisely identical in its intellectual aspects 
with that held by another. We may try to develop in a 
group of persons an exactly identical ideal; but inevitably 
the peculiar experience of each, as organized in his ideas, 
will give a somewhat singular shape to the ideal which is 
formed in his mind and cherished in his heart. One's ideals 
are integral parts of his mental system, which is in some 
respects different from the mental system of every other. 
Of course, these differences between the mental systems of 
men who live in the same general environment and have 
the same general forms of experience are not always of 
great practical importance ; but our modern life is so highly 
differentiated, so variously complex, that one is sometimes 
startled at the wide differences between the points of view, 
modes of thought and ideals of men who move side by side 
in many of the activities of life. It is of great practical 
importance not only to be aware of the fact, which can 
hardly be hidden from any one who knows men, but to 
understand its causes and significance. What we see in our 
modern life is a vast medley of various and more or less 
conflicting ideals, individual and social. It is the inevitable 
psychological result of the marvellous differentiation of 
human activities in a highly complex and multifarious 
civilization. 1 

3. It is apparent that sentiments and ideals are closely 
related. Ideals may be classified as a species of sentiments. 
They are emotional dispositions organized around a certain 
class of ideas, or around certain objects which embody these 
ideas. They differ from other sentiments in the fact that 
the ideas which constitute the intellectual core of them are 
conceived as perfect states or conditions which are goals to 
be striven for. It is characteristic of all positive sentiments 
that, in the absence of their objects, a desire for them is felt. 
The peculiarity of the ideal is that its object is thought of as 

1 See Chapter on Mental Systems. 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 109 

absent in the sense that it is unrealized, or at most realized 
in only one, or a portion, of the class of objects to which 
it belongs. Sentiments other than ideals are indices of 
character as already organized ; ideals are sign boards which 
point the direction in which character is developing. One's 
other sentiments determine in large measure, if not wholly, 
his ideals ; for, though he may be given the idea of a perfect 
state far above the actual, how can he desire it if it does 
not connect somewhere with the feeling-dispositions already 
organized in him ? As the character is organized and some 
sentiment becomes dominant, some supreme ideal will also 
develop in harmony therewith. 

But, since ideals indicate the direction in which character 
is growing, does not this doctrine imply a necessary and 
inevitable continuity without breach in the development of 
character? Such a conclusion would leave out of account 
a most important aspect of the matter. Sentiments are 
organized in experience, and this is true of ideals. Expe- 
rience is the reaction of the personality upon various phases 
of one's environment. To develop new sentiments or ideals 
which modify or disintegrate old sentiments and ideals, the 
persons must have new experiences, must be surrounded 
with a new environment or brought into new relations with 
parts of the existing environment. And certainly so long as 
the crystallization of the character is not absolute, this is a 
possibility that is ever open. It should be said that we are 
using the word environment in its broadest significance — 
including not only the material conditions of life, but the 
whole universe of personal beings, human and divine. 

III. There is clearly no danger of overestimating the im- 
portance of sentiments and ideals, whether we look at the 
individual, the community or the nation. " The whole his- 
tory of moral progress as we pass down the ages is the 
record of a succession of changing ideals." x These are true 
words. Sentiments and ideals are of the very substance of 
character, personal and social. They are supremely signifi- 

iMacCunn, "The Making of Character," p. 141. 



IIO PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

cant for teachers and preachers. Indeed, are they not 
supremely significant for all men? The making of char- 
acter is the one serious business in the world. No man has 
begun to get the right point of view upon his work until 
he looks at it in its relation to character-making. The 
failure to do this is what degrades so much of the world's 
work. But in an especial way this matter is important for 
preachers ; for their business in a peculiarly direct way is 
aimed at the development of right sentiments and ideals. 
However strongly they may believe in and insist on the 
direct regenerating and sanctifying action of the Divine 
Spirit upon the hearts of men — and I do strongly believe in 
it — the only way in which they can relate themselves to this 
process is by developing the proper mental attitudes and 
emotional dispositions in the people to whom they minister. 
A right emotional attitude seems to be the necessary condi- 
tion for the redeeming action of the Divine upon the human 
spirit, and right emotional attitudes are the necessary condi- 
tions for the development of the spiritual life after it has 
been initiated. At any rate, however these emotional dispo- 
sitions may be related to the action of the Divine Spirit — a 
matter about which theologians have found it difficult to 
reach an agreement — it is certain that they have a vital re- 
lation to the origin and progress of the spiritual life, and it 
is certain also that they are very largely under the control 
of human agencies. And it is the preacher's high privilege 
and responsibility to influence the spiritual life from begin- 
ning to end by developing these dispositions. 

IV. This leads to the question, how are these emotional 
dispositions developed? To be concrete, let us ask how a 
child's sentiment for its mother is developed. That senti- 
ment is not in-born ; but from the beginning of life the little 
one has numerous and varying experiences of its mother. 
Normally these experiences are such as to give satisfaction 
to its varying needs and are attended by pleasant feelings; 
her absence is accompanied by the consciousness of unsatis- 
fied needs and unpleasant feelings. There thus grows up 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS III 

around her person a feeling-disposition, a tendency to feel 
about her in certain ways under certain conditions. As the 
child advances into the age of reason, he begins to think 
about his mother's relation to him. He perceives that her 
tender kindness and helpfulness toward him are fixed dispo- 
sitions in her; he sees more and more clearly what his 
mother means and has meant to him, and the emotional dis- 
position of unthinking childhood is extended, deepened, 
strengthened, rationalized. He observes other mothers 
in relation to their children, and gradually there grows 
up in his mind the concept of motherhood in gen- 
eral and in connection therewith a certain feeling-disposi- 
tion, which reacts upon and elevates the disposition he has 
toward his own mother. The very idea of motherhood 
warms his heart with a complex of feelings, according to 
the connection in which he thinks it. He sees a mother 
with a child in her arms, and the sight fills him with a 
feeling at once tender and reverential. He hears an un- 
grateful son speak disrespectfully of his mother, and it 
excites a contemptuous indignation for the unnatural in- 
grate. With advancing age and enlarging experience, the 
sentiment becomes stronger and tenderer. The presence or 
memory of his own mother floods his soul with a feeling 
sweet beyond expression and almost worshipful in its rev- 
erence. But it is evident that his noble sentiment originated 
in and has been developed through the innumerable and 
varied experiences which have kindled in him pleasant emo- 
tions with respect to her. And this sentiment will certainly 
be deeper and stronger if throughout this course of expe- 
rience he has given practical expression of his growing love 
for her. 

This crude sketch of the development of one of our finest 
sentiments is intended to help us to grasp clearly the simple 
and essential elements of the process. The repeated excita- 
tion of the appropriate feelings in connection with an object 
or an idea, and the appropriate expression of those feelings 
— such is the simple process by which sentiments are devel- 



112 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

oped. Fundamentally it is a process of habit formation. 
But at one point we should be on guard : it is to be accom- 
plished not so much by the identical repetition of one act 
intended to excite a pleasant feeling. For unfortunately 
the continued repetition of this one act will gradually cease 
to excite feeling. It comes rather by varied experiences 
which excite the appropriate feelings. 

I can not stop here to dwell upon the importance of read- 
ing as a means of developing the sentiments, though its 
importance can hardly be over-estimated. Especially are 
certain kinds of literature, such as poetry and fiction, appro- 
priate for this purpose. The sentiments and ideals of the 
average person are, in our reading age, created and modified 
to a very large extent by the poems and stories which he 
reads; and with many people the drama also is a potent 
factor in the development of feeling-dispositions. 

Our purpose, however, is not to discuss the significance of 
literature and the drama for our emotional life — to which 
a whole chapter, or many chapters, might well be devoted; 
but it is to emphasize the relation of preaching to this most 
important aspect of character-making. To direct and or- 
ganize the emotional life of the people is a principal business 
of preaching — perhaps it would not be an exaggeration to 
say that it is the chief function. And the method is obvious. 
If the preacher's object is, for instance, to develop in his 
hearers the sentiment of love for God, the idea of God must 
be repeatedly presented to them in such ways as to be attrac- 
tive, to awaken in them pleasant feelings with respect to 
Him; but if the love they are led to feel for Him is to be 
reverential, the feeling of reverence must also be repeatedly 
aroused. His goodness, kindness, self-sacrifice must be pre- 
sented in varied lights together with His majesty and holi- 
ness, and in such ways as to arouse the appropriate feelings. 
If the aim is to develop the sentiment of love for humanity, 
then humanity, both in the concrete and the abstract, must 
be so presented as to arouse a kindly, brotherly feeling for 
individual men, and for man in the abstract, and incite to its 



SENTIMENTS AND IDEALS 1 13 

practical expression. How often does the preacher by his 
sneers at human frailties, his depreciation of human virtues, 
his one-sided exaggeration of the moral depravity of human 
nature, tend to develop in his hearers misanthropy rather 
than the noble sentiment of philanthropy, the twin sentiment 
of the love of God ! Indeed he has sometimes represented 
God to the people in such a barbarous caricature as to de- 
velop, at the very best, no higher feeling than that of a cer- 
tain fearful awe, and at the worst a positive disposition of 
hostility. Of course, the moral failings of men should not 
be ignored nor the depravity of the human heart covered up ; 
but the essential dignity of human nature may be effectively 
impressed without hiding its scars, and the infinite precious- 
ness of the humblest human personality may be so presented 
as to appeal to the noblest feelings, without minimizing its 
weakness. Nor should the character of God be so repre- 
sented as to leave out His stern moral severity ; for the law 
is as truly an expression of His character as is mercy. But 
this can be so done as to stir more profoundly the feeling of 
love for Him. To develop these noblest sentiments of love 
for God and love for man one need not cover up human sin 
nor hide the divine holiness. 

To develop these sentiments until they become dominant 
in the lives of the people is the supreme business of the 
preacher. What a noble function! More than any other 
worker in the great process of character-building, he deals 
directly with sentiments and ideals. His primary business is 
with the emotional life. He should not — he must not — 
omit teaching; for his task is precisely that of refining and 
rationalizing the crude emotions of the instinctive life, or- 
ganizing them around great ideas and principles, so that they 
to whom he ministers shall come to have fixed tendencies to 
right feeling when they deal with situations involving ideas 
and principles. This defines his most vital relation not only 
to individual lives but to the social life. It is his great task 
to help the world toward a better organization of society 
primarily by building up right public sentiments and ideals. 



114 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

To do so he must, to be sure, have a clear intellectual grasp 
of social facts and principles ; for without this he may be a 
most effective hindrance to social progress by organizing the 
emotional life of the people around false or imperfect con- 
ceptions of social relations. But having acquired true ideas 
of social processes and relations, let him devote himself to 
developing right emotional dispositions in connection with 
them, being assured that there is no other work in the whole 
great process of social advancement so much needed. For 
apart from proper emotional dispositions, the clearest and 
most comprehensive ideas and principles are without power 
to control the actions of men. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 

In the two preceding chapters emphasis has been laid 
upon the importance of the relation which the emotional 
life bears to preaching. It is well now to consider the most 
effective means and methods of exciting feeling. 

Emotion is always aroused in one of three ways. The 
first is immediate experience, i.e., some contact with the 
environment which directly affects one's own personal wel- 
fare, physical or mental — for example, the prick of a thorn, 
a good dinner, a harsh voice, a sweet melody, a desirable 
gift, a happy discovery, the death of a loved one, etc., etc. 
The second is sympathy with another in his experience. 
When we witness the signs of feeling in another it excites 
a similar feeling in us. This is true even when we do not 
perceive the cause of the feeling. We tend to laugh when 
we see others laugh, although we may not know what is 
causing the hilarity. If we see another weeping, it arouses 
a sympathetic sorrow in us before we discover the cause 
of theirs. A band of happy, romping children makes the 
heart of every one who is not a misanthrope beat with glad- 
ness. This may be called mediate or sympathetic experi- 
ence. If when we discover the cause of the emotion it 
is seen to be something which would, if experienced by us, 
arouse in us a similar one, the sympathetic feeling is 
deepened. If, on the other hand, it turns out to be some- 
thing which would arouse in us a different or opposite feel- 
ing, there is a reaction, and the sympathetic feeling is likely 
to be turned into disgust. If I saw a woman weeping as if 
her heart would break, I should, before I knew the cause, 

115 



Il6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

experience a keen sympathetic grief; but if I should learn 
that the cause of her anguish was the death of a poodle dog, 
my participation in her grief would come to a rather abrupt 
end. That is, whenever the feeling of another seems to us 
incongruous or incommensurate with its cause, it arouses a 
dissimilar or opposite feeling in us. The third means of 
arousing feeling is the mental representation, the image or 
idea either of an immediate personal experience which 
would awaken feeling, or of an experience of another which 
would arouse sympathy. This may be called a secondary or 
representative experience. 

Broadly speaking, there are two means at the disposal of 
the orator for arousing the feelings of his audience. 

I. Delivery. By delivery is meant all the physical proc- 
esses involved in the communication of the speaker's thought 
and feeling — general bearing, poses, gestures, contraction 
of the facial muscles, modulation of the voice, etc. We 
shall not stop to consider whether there be any occult, secret, 
unanalysable power by which one mind may impress another 
apart from physical expressions. Some persons seem to 
possess such a power, and it may be that all have some 
measure of it. But whatever power of such a kind there 
may be, it lies in its very nature beyond the reach of profit- 
able discussion. Certainly the ordinary means by which one 
person communicates his ideas and feelings to others or 
awakens them in others is physical action of some sort. 
The appeal is to the eye and ear, or more exactly to the 
mind through the eye and the ear. 

In delivery two ways in which feeling may be aroused 
in the audience should be distinguished. 

(i) By some peculiarity in the appearance, the manner 
or the voice of the speaker. The peculiarity may excite 
pleasant or unpleasant feelings. Slovenly or neat dress, 
awkward or easy manner, harsh or sweet tones of the voice, 
etc., will inevitably produce corresponding emotional reac- 
tions. There is here no communication of feeling; for in- 
born peculiarities of bearing, appearance, manner, voice, 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 117 

etc., do not necessarily express the feeling of a man and seem 
to bear no definite relation to the emotional life, although 
one can hardly divest himself of the impression that there 
is some indefinite relation between the two. But, however 
that may be, it is manifest that the speaker should be ex- 
ceedingly careful as to this matter. His personal pecu- 
liarities will inevitably impress his hearers in such a way as 
to assist or hinder the impression which he desires to make 
upon them. These personal peculiarities may awaken in 
them feelings which will effectively aid or wholly negative 
the proper emotional response which he wishes to induce in 
them. Even when he has the proper feeling himself, his 
unfortunate personal peculiarities may render it next to im- 
possible for him to secure the proper emotional response 
from them. That is a sad spectacle, though it sometimes 
becomes sadly ridiculous. What should the preacher do in 
such circumstances? Get rid of the peculiarity, of course, 
if that be possible ; at any rate, by constant training and dis- 
cipline reduce it to a minimum, and cultivate to the max- 
imum whatever pleasure-exciting traits he may be endowed 
with. With this advice, let us pass to another and more 
important element in delivery. 

(2) The excitation of emotion by expression and com- 
munication. We have seen that every feeling has a phys- 
iological side — the contraction of certain groups of mus- 
cles. It has also been pointed out that the parts of the 
muscular system more immediately involved in feeling are 
those connected with the organic processes of circulation, 
respiration and secretion. The contraction of the sets of 
muscles controlling the organs by which we react upon the 
external world do not involve the purely psychical or con- 
scious side of feeling, except as it may induce a tension or 
disturbance in the muscles controlling the more vital proc- 
esses mentioned; and this it usually does. Now, while the 
contraction of the muscles controlling the externally acting 
organs may cause feeling by inducing disturbance in the 
central vital processes, it is also true that the internal organic 



Il8 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tension tends to induce contractions in these outwardly act- 
ing muscles, and in this way the feeling may express itself 
through them to other persons. A feeling of any kind 
which involves an organic disturbance of much intensity is 
likely to lead to some appropriate movement of the arms 
and legs. If the inward disturbance is very great it is al- 
most certain to result in a wild or aimless flinging about of 
the arms or stamping of the feet, or induce a trembling of 
the entire muscular system which affects the whole bodily 
frame. If the emotion is depressing, it will produce relax- 
ation, and then the body will droop or sway and seem about 
to collapse. A deep feeling often leads to the utterance of 
a cry or a moan. A comparatively slight organic disturb- 
ance may induce the contraction of the facial muscles, which 
accounts for the fact that changes in the countenance are 
among the surest indications of feeling in all degrees of 
intensity. It is clear, then, that those parts of our muscu- 
lature which are not immediately involved in the feeling ex- 
perience may become very effective expressions of feeling 
to others. But it should be borne in mind that the expres- 
sion through any of the larger muscles of the external group 
is really a discharge of the feeling. The energy expended 
in the movements of the arms and legs, especially, is so 
much subtracted from the inward organic contractions with 
which the feeling-tones are immediately connected. This 
may be true even as to the expressions through the contrac- 
tion of the facial muscles ; but in this case the effect is too 
slight to be of significance. The principle may be briefly 
formulated thus: the more demonstration through the ex- 
ternal muscles — those of the arms and legs and vocal or- 
gans — the less becomes the internal tension, and the lower 
the feeling -tones. Such demonstrations not only express 
and therefore relieve feelings of great intensity; but, if in- 
dulged in before intense feelings have been developed, may 
also prevent them. 

In this connection arises the very interesting question 
which has been much discussed by psychologists, to what 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 119 

extent has a person voluntary control of his emotions? 
Can one by a simple act of the will induce in himself any 
emotion he desires to experience? If so, how? Can he 
inhibit, annul, any emotion which has been aroused in him- 
self? And how? Actors have been questioned as to 
whether they consciously feel the emotions the physical 
manifestations of which they assume, and they do not agree 
in their answers. Possibly this disagreement is due to the 
failure of at least some of them to understand all that is 
implied in the question. At any rate it is extremely prob- 
able, if not certain, that whenever the organic tensions 
which constitute the physical side of the emotions are really 
induced, the corresponding feeling-tones are always present. 
The feeling on its conscious side consists of a mass of or- 
ganic sensations plus their feeling-tones. If the organic 
disturbances are really induced, the organic sensations must 
be present, and the feeling-tone in some degree of inten- 
sity will inevitably accompany. Can, then, the organic ten- 
sion be induced at will? Not immediately, not by a sheer 
fiat of the will directed straight upon that part of the mus- 
cular system. It must be done by fixing the attention upon 
the appropriate mental images. One cannot make himself 
feel the emotion of anger by simply saying, " I will be an- 
gry" ; but he can by vividly imagining a situation which 
would arouse his anger. The will induces the emotion by 
choosing to dwell upon the appropriate ideas. Likewise one 
can induce the feeling of gratitude by fixing his attention 
upon the mental image of a situation or act which would in- 
cite that feeling. On the other hand, how can one inhibit or 
annul an emotion which he already feels? The answer is, 
by voluntarily relaxing the muscular tensions which con- 
stitute the physical side of the emotion. If in the heat of 
anger he will by an act of the will relax his tense muscles 
the anger will at once cool. But here also it is really the 
direction of the attention which accomplishes the result. In 
the resolve to relax, the attention is directed away from the 
act or situation or idea which aroused the anger and is 



120 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

directed upon the act of muscular relaxation itself. The 
same result might be accomplished by the resolute fixing of 
the attention in any other direction away from the cause of 
the anger. The voluntary control of one's own emotion is, 
then, a matter of the control, or the direction, of the attention. 

One can, however, be more successful in controlling the 
contraction of the externally acting organs by a sheer reso- 
lution of the will, directed immediately upon the muscles 
controlling them; and can thus, without experiencing the 
appropriate emotions, imitate at least many of the move- 
ments by which the emotions normally express themselves to 
others through these organs. He can clinch his fist, or ex- 
tend his arms in pleading gestures, or stamp his feet, or 
scream or moan, etc., by a direct act of the will without 
the corresponding emotions. However, these actions, if 
they are true forms of the expression of the emotions tend 
to induce in some measure the corresponding internal ten- 
sions with their attendant states of consciousness ; but this 
is usually accomplished only in small measure. The dis- 
proportion in such a case between the external demonstra- 
tion and the internal disturbance is too evident, and makes 
a proportionately weak impression on the observer. There 
is too much thunder and too little lightning; too much 
sound and fury, signifying nothing. 

It is apparent now what is the psychological explanation 
of " tearing a passion to tatters." It is outward demonstra- 
tion which is not the expression of a corresponding inward, 
or organic disturbance; violent contraction of the external 
muscular system, when the internal systems controlling the 
vital processes are not tense with emotion, and there is 
therefore little conscious realization of the meaning of 
what is being said with much vociferation and gesticulation. 
High and loud tones of voice, and excited flinging of the 
arms and stamping of the feet are not acceptable, not even 
pardonable, except as the expressions of genuine emotions 
of a corresponding intensity. It is impossible by such super- 
ficial means to conceal the deficiency of real emotion, for 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 121 

genuine feeling has other and finer means of manifestation. 
The organic disturbances, which are the true physical coun- 
terpart of conscious feeling, not only are apparent to ob- 
servers, but are difficult indeed to conceal. These are re- 
vealed in subtile modulations of tone, facial expressions and 
indefinite bodily tensions which can hardly be analysed and 
described in detail, and at most can be but imperfectly 
imitated at will even by the most consummate art ; but can 
nevertheless be perceived by the eyes and ears. Especially 
can those whose emotional life has been refined and 
deepened by intellectual culture see through this external 
show of emotion and perceive as by a sixth sense whether 
it be a mere hollow mask or a bona fide expression of gen- 
uine and vital processes. They whose emotional life is 
crude, who are susceptible only to the grosser emotions, 
respond more readily to mere loudness and violence of de- 
livery; but the excitement thus communicated to them is 
mainly physical, as is that which awakens it, and consists 
mainly of the reflex or instinctive twitching of the nerves 
without much conscious appreciation of the ideas presented. 
This is characteristic of the emotional experience of the 
ignorant and rude — the kind of emotional experiences of 
which they are most capable ; and doubtless this is the reason 
why speakers who are successful with audiences of this 
grade of culture almost invaribly fall into the use of this 
method, while speakers acceptable to audiences of higher 
culture always use less violence in delivery- There is 
noticeable a sort of natural selection of speakers on this 
principle for various types of audiences. 

But while the manner of delivery should have a certain 
adaptation to the audience, it is a sound rule to guard 
against " beating the air," i.e., against excessive or dispro- 
portionate gesticulation and vociferation. Every feeling, 
and every grade of intensity of every feeling, has its appro- 
priate and proportionate expression in voice and gesture, 
and all beyond that is not only wasted energy on the part 
of the speaker but is likely to cause a revulsion of feeling 



122 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

on the part of an audience. Each audience will bear or will 
require more or less of it, according to its average level of 
culture; but in every case there is a limit beyond which it 
becomes intolerable. But apart from the grade of culture 
of the audience, there is a second important qualifying con- 
dition. Even the casual observer must have noted the fact 
that a large assembly calls for higher tones of voice and 
more vigorous gesticulation than a small gathering, and the 
speaker will by a sort of instinct use. them. Higher tones of 
voice are, of course, necessary simply in order to be heard, 
and as there is a natural correlation of the tones of the voice 
with gestures, the higher pitch of voice is almost inevitably 
accompanied by more vigorous gesticulation. And there is 
not only need of louder tones in order to be heard, but of 
more ample physical movements in order to be adequately 
seen. This, however, is not the whole explanation. In a 
great mass of people the emotional situation is more in- 
tense, 1 and this naturally affects the speaker, intensifying 
his emotions, which normally find vent in more emphatic 
and excited modes of expression. A third qualification of 
the rule should also be noted. Much depends upon the 
speaker's temperamental peculiarities. His nervous system 
may be so organized that he tends naturally to over-do, or 
— what is almost as bad — under-do vociferation and ges- 
ticulation. Either defect should, of course, be corrected as 
far as possible by stern self-discipline under the direction 
of a competent instructor in expression. But all qualifying 
conditions aside, the rule is a safe one — avoid excessive 
vociferation and gesticulation. Restraint of a tendency to 
free expression of feeling in these ways, if it be manifestly 
the exercise of self-control, and not timidity or embarrass- 
ment, heightens the effect upon intelligent hearers, because 
it increases the internal organic tension in the speaker and 
produces a similar effect upon the observers. For the prin- 
ciple is that, so far as emotional effects are concerned, 2 the 

1 See Chapter on Assemblies. 

2 Of course, the voice and gesture have another use besides the 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING I23 

only function of tone and gesture is to aid in inducing in 
the hearer the organic tensions with which the conscious 
side of feeling is always linked. 

Let us now turn to note the distinction between arousing 
feeling by dramatic action and by the simple expression of it 
in voice and gesture. Dramatic action involves, of course, 
the use of voice and gesture; but its function is to enable 
the hearer or spectator to see mentally the actions of a per- 
son or persons not actually present. It is representative ac- 
tion ; and as such is a very effective means of arousing emo- 
tion. But it aims not so much at communicating the 
emotion of the speaker or actor — though it usually 
does this — as at enabling the audience to witness the 
actions, with their accompanying emotions, of other persons 
who are not really present, and to experience in some meas- 
ure the feelings which would be aroused by witnessing the 
actual performance of the actions. Of course, as it ap- 
proaches perfection it tends to produce the illusion of 
reality or actuality. This is the ideal of the actor; though 
it is doubtful whether it is ever realized except momentarily. 
However great and however sustained may be the power of 
the actor, it is doubtful whether he can banish from the 
back-ground of the spectator's consciousness the realization 
of the fact that he is not the person represented, and there 
are inevitable incidents upon the stage that hinder the com- 
plete consummation of the illusion. Our concern, however, 
is not with the professional actor, but with the dramatic ac- 
tion of the orator. Certainly the illusion of actuality in his 
representation is not to be expected, perhaps not to be 
desired. Dramatic action in the orator is like a sketch in 
art; it is an outline, with details omitted, of the situation 
and action represented, giving just enough to enable the 
imagination of the hearer easily to complete the scene. 
Often the actor himself does no more. Possibly this is 

excitation of feeling. It is obvious that they have an important 
function in the communication of ideas. They express thought as 
well as feeling. 



124 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the reason why the actor at times does not feel adequately 
the emotion which he portrays. He may give by the use of 
voice and gesture only the rough draft, so to speak, of the 
situation or action which he represents, with little of the 
internal physical accompaniments of the emotion and so 
with little consciousness of the corresponding feeling-tones. 
It is possible thus to awaken in the spectator, whose imag- 
ination completes the scene, a more intense feeling-tone than 
he himself has. As a rule, however, it is certain that the 
actor or orator will arouse no more feeling in an audience 
than he experiences. If his own imagination does not ade- 
quately realize the scene, his sketchy portrayal of it will 
hardly be accurate enough to stimulate the imagination of 
the hearer to realize it with sufficient vividness. And if his 
own soul is stirred he will communicate emotion as well as 
induce it through the activity of the hearer's imagination. 

But it is better for the orator not to be too realistic in 
dramatic action. He is not an actor. Opinions will prob- 
ably differ, but it is the author's conviction that the preacher 
should not aim at producing the illusion of actuality in the 
portrayal of scenes and actions. The attempt is likely to 
prove dismally abortive ; for he is not trained for it and has 
not, as the actor has, the scenery of the stage which is 
intended to aid in producing the illusion. Moreover, he is 
normally and usually aiming not simply at high emotional 
effects, but at immediate action or decision ; and the drama- 
tism which is so realistic as to produce the illusion of ac- 
tuality will probably stir an emotion of too high an inten- 
sity to lead to thoroughly rational determination — and this 
the preacher should avoid. And yet in this respect most 
preaching errs by deficiency rather than by excess. The 
average preacher is sadly lacking in dramatic power. How 
many sermons, otherwise good, are wanting in power be- 
cause the preacher utterly fails to make men, incidents, 
situations embodying the truths he is seeking to impress, live 
before his hearers ! Thrilling actions and events are re- 
lated without appropriate — and perhaps with quite inap- 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 125 

propriate — dramatic action. At best, the imagination of the 
audience is not assisted in the emotional realization of the 
scene ; and sometimes is actually hindered by the blundering, 
unsympathetic presentation. Such preaching may be " di- 
dactic," but is certainly not dynamic. It may be instructional 
in form, but is not instructive in fact. If the preacher were 
only a pedagogue, such a method would be unsuited to his 
task, for Psychology has taught us that " dry " presentation 
is not good pedagogy. But he is not in a class room ; he is 
before a congregation, and there dramatic action is an ele- 
ment of power without which he can rarely be effective. 

2. There is available for the speaker another very effec- 
tive means of arousing emotion in an audience — style, or 
the skilful use of language. The use of language is a large 
subject, and the purpose here is to consider it solely as a 
means of exciting emotion. With reference to its possible 
emotional effects let us emphasize, first, the necessity of 
" pictorial " language. 

In the first place, it is a fact of common experience, and 
stressed in all the books on Rhetoric, that images of con- 
crete things and situations are most effective in this respect. 
The reason is that it is concrete things and situations which 
form the staple of our primary experiences. With the ex- 
ception of a relatively few who are devoted to philosophical 
pursuits, the very substance of life is the experience of con- 
crete realities. We are helped in this by general and ab- 
stract ideas, which have been aptly termed " condensed ex- 
perience," but primarily experience is the interaction be- 
tween the human organism and actual things and persons. 
To the philosopher generalizations and abstractions may be 
the realities with which he is most intimately concerned, and 
by means of them comparatively strong feelings may be 
stirred in him ; but not so with ordinary persons. The gen- 
eralized and abstract formulations of experience count for 
little in their lives. The generalization is general because in 
it the particular images are no longer realized as such ; and 
the abstraction is abstract because it is detached from things 



126 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in their concrete individualities. The feeling-tones con- 
nected with them are, therefore, in most minds very slight 
— too pale and thin to be considerable factors in their 
emotional life, too weak to have important influence upon 
their actions and attitudes. While, then, there are indi- 
vidual differences due to native peculiarities and to habits 
acquired in experience, the rule is that the more detailed, 
vivid, realistic the mental images are, the more intense will 
be the feelings they will arouse. - Compare, for instance, 
the different intensity of the feelings aroused by the state- 
ment, " a man was run down and killed on the street by an 
automobile " ; and the more detailed statement, " John Smith 
was run down and killed on Fourth Avenue this morning by 
Henry Jones' automobile." In the latter, the scene is more 
vividly reproduced by the imagination ; the intensity of the 
emotion aroused is more nearly equal to that which the ac- 
tual sight of the event would excite. Especially will this be 
true if John Smith and Henry Jones are names of persons of 
your acquaintance, and not mere symbols which convey 
vague generic images of two men. Still more intense 
would be the emotion if further details were given as to the 
hour, the exact spot on Fourth Avenue where it took place, 
supposing, of course, the hearer to be familiar with that 
street. The rule for the speaker is, therefore, be concrete, 
vivid, realistic ; give specific details ; stimulate the imag- 
ination of the hearer to reproduce the scene. 

But some qualifications of this rule should be made. The 
speaker may give too many details. Even the simplest ob- 
jects are very complex. In the description of a horse, a 
man, a tree, details may be multiplied until the most capable 
imagination is completely swamped and no definite image 
at all is conveyed. Speakers not unfrequently err in this 
way. Our mental images are more or less sketchy repro- 
ductions of our perceptions. But even in perception one 
does not take in all the details of an object. If he did he 
would spend his whole life upon a comparatively few ob- 
jects. In perception he notes only a few characteristic 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 127 

qualities or features of an object, and the mental image 
never reproduces these in full. If this be true of the single 
object, how much more true is it of situations and occur- 
rences which involve several or many objects in their rela- 
tions to one another? How mistaken it is, then, for a 
speaker in describing an object or a scene, or in relating an 
occurrence, to over-load his description or narration with 
a mass of details which even the attention of an observer 
would neglect as unimportant! He must select. He has 
use for only a few significant or " telling " details ; and it is 
in the selection that the narrator shows his skill, or lack of 
it. He should first form a definite conception of the whole 
incident or history, its general meaning, and the particular 
meaning or lesson he purposes to draw from it; and then 
select the details with respect to that. It is an art of high 
order, and might almost as well be called the art of omis- 
sion. And if the incident has been witnessed by the nar- 
rator, it involves the art of observation, in which men have 
very unequal skill. 

It is possible for the narrator of an event to stir in a 
hearer who witnessed it a more definite, if not a more in- 
tense, emotion than the sight of it aroused ; for the mind of 
the witness may have been confused or for some reason may 
have overlooked significant details, which the narrator 
brings to his attention. This leads us to consider a second 
qualification of the rule. The description of an object or 
the narration of an event is also its interpretation. Much 
depends upon the relative emphasis upon the details. Any 
occurrence may be related in such ways as to give very 
various impressions of its meaning and evoke quite different 
or opposite emotions. An artful narrator may emphasize 
really insignificant aspects of an occurrence and thus dis- 
tort its real significance. Or, if stressing only significant 
aspects, he may over-emphasize some and under-emphasize 
others, and arouse a corresponding feeling. Therefore, 
conscientious speakers — and in this class all preachers cer- 
tainly ought to be included — will, in seeking to arouse feel- 



128 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ing by description and narration, strive not only for con- 
creteness and vividness but also for truth, and will disdain 
the artful method of misrepresentation to produce desired 
emotional effects. 

A third qualification is that the speaker should in detailed 
description and narration have respect to the mental atti- 
tudes and states of his hearers. He may with the best inten- 
tion introduce details which, while unimportant to the true 
interpretation of the incident, will spoil the effect by excit- 
ing in some of his hearers a feeling quite different from that 
which he intends ; and a story which will call forth one emo- 
tion in one person may stir a very different one in others. 
To many persons the stories of the sayings and doings of 
drunken men are very amusing; to others they may be dis- 
gusting, and to some who have had tragical experiences in 
connection therewith, they may be inexpressibly painful. 
Mr. Wyche, president of the American Story Tellers' 
League, says he found that " Uncle Remus' " stories, so ir- 
resistibly humorous to audiences of White people, were not 
well received by Negro audiences, because the negroes in- 
terpreted them as a sort of reflection on their race. 

(2) But there is another quality of style which is of great 
importance in arousing feeling. Rhythm of speech is 
hardly inferior to the pictorial quality of the words as a 
means of kindling feeling. The whole universe of expe- 
rience — i.e., the universe as experienced — is rhythmical. 
There are recurring periods in the solar system. The year, 
the month, the day, each has its periodicity. There are 
longer and shorter rhythms in the history of mankind, and 
each human life has rhythms, and rhythms within rhythms. 
The vibrations of atoms ; the waves of ether which cause the 
sensations of light, and of the atmosphere which cause 
sound; the movements of the winds, of the waters of the 
sea; the variations of the weather; geological periods and 
cycles of climatic change — all are rhythmical. Rhythm 
runs through all things which come within the scope of 
man's experience. His mental processes are rhythmical; 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 1 29 

and it is just possible that these mental rhythms are the ex- 
planation of the rhythmical character of the universe of his 
experience. These mental rhythms seem to be closely re- 
lated to the attention waves and are, therefore, helpful in 
thinking. But doubtless no part of our mental life is so 
completely responsive to and dependent upon rhythm as our 
emotional experiences. We tend to read rhythm into every 
series of sensations, no matter how devoid of periodicity it 
may be. A series which is unrhythmical is inevitably un- 
pleasant, and if we cannot read into it some regularity of 
recurring periods it soon becomes intolerable. And to 
every sort of rhythm our nature responds in feeling-tones of 
some intensity, i.e., if it coincides even approximately with 
the peculiar rhythms of our own organism. For, while 
there are certain fundamental and universal rhythms to 
which all human organisms respond, each individual doubt- 
less has his own peculiarities in this respect, as in all others. 
The reason for the emotional responsiveness to this par- 
ticular type of stimuli is, perhaps, to be looked for in the 
constitution and operation of the vital organs of the body. 
No part of the body is so completely subject to regular 
alternations of tension and relaxation as these organs; no 
other functions proceed with such rhythmical regularity; 
and possibly for this reason no other part of our muscula- 
ture is so sensitive to stimulations of this kind. This may 
be fanciful, but, at any rate, the parts of our musculature 
which control the activity of these organs seem to be most 
immediately and powerfully affected by such stimuli. A 
series of sounds following each other in a simple rhythm, 
though they may not have been heard before and are asso- 
ciated with no ideas, will, by the reaction which they set 
up within those parts of the nervous system immediately 
related to the vital processes, evoke emotional responses of 
some intensity, which in turn call up more or less definite 
mental images. 

As stated above, different persons vary by nature in their 
responsiveness to rhythms, no doubt on account of variations 



130 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in the constitution of their nervous systems. All normal 
persons seem to be responsive in some measure to the simple 
meters, though not all equally. As the rhythms become 
more complex wide differences of natural susceptibility be- 
come apparent. Some are by nature readily responsive to 
very complex rhythms, as the born musicians and lovers of 
music, who are lifted into ecstasy by involved harmonies 
which to ordinary hearers are only endless tangles of notes. 
Being beyond the range of their responsiveness, such har- 
monies are to hearers of the latter class likely to be dis- 
agreeable because the rhythms are too complex for their 
ears. However, within the limits of natural capability it is 
a matter of education. By constant exercise and training 
the naturally dull may learn to enjoy to some extent the 
complicated harmonies of great classical productions. The 
same is true of poetry, which in its origin was not clearly 
differentiated from, and in its whole development has been 
closely related to, music. The two arts are, for obvious 
reasons, of the utmost importance to the emotional life. 
The music and hymns of religion, of patriotism and of the 
simpler personal relations and experiences, have played a 
great, doubtless the dominant, role in the development and 
culture of the emotions. Their significance and value can 
hardly be overestimated. Through them chiefly the great 
sentiments, which are the most powerful factors in the in- 
spiration, direction and control of human conduct, have been 
organized. It is questionable whether those who compose 
a people's music and poetry, especially its songs, do not 
exert a greater influence upon its destinies than those who 
formulate its religious and political creeds. 

But our concern now is not with music and poetry, com- 
manding as are their functions in human life, but with 
public speech, in which rhythm is a most important element. 
In speech there is, first, a rhythm of the words themselves. 
On this it is necessary to dwell only for a moment. Some 
words are, when pronounced, harsh, awkward, unrhythmical. 
They offend the ear; they grate upon the nerves. They 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING I3I 

may be respectable words and convey definite and accurate 
meanings ; but for them the speaker has, as a rule, only one 
use. If he can utilize them so as to connect the unpleasant 
feeling-tones which they arouse with some idea or object 
against which he wishes to create a feeling-disposition, well 
and good. For that purpose they are very serviceable, and 
the skilful orator will hold them in reserve for that alone. 
Now and then, to be sure, a speaker whose words are usually 
soft and mellifluous may use those of unpleasant sound as a 
musician does his discords, to emphasize the beauty of his 
normal speech ; but otherwise he should bar the door of his 
lips against them. 

More important is the arrangement of words and clauses 
in sentences. Sentence rhythm is, in part, a matter of the 
collocation of words in such a way that they follow one an- 
other easily in pronunciation, flow into one another without 
bringing two inharmonious sounds together. This gives 
fluency of style, which is very pleasing. But of equal if not 
greater significance are the number of predications in the 
sentence and the alternation of short and long sentences. It 
is an interesting fact that each speaker or writer has his own 
average number of predications in a sentence, his own aver- 
age length of sentences, and his own average alternation 
of long and short sentences. For instance, a close examina- 
tion of Macaulay's writing shows that the average number 
of predications in the sentences of his entire History of 
England is 2 : 30. The average length of the sentences is 
23 : 43 words ; and there is an average of thirty-four simple 
sentences to every hundred. 1 These peculiarities seem to be 
connected with one's emotional organization and to indicate 
very accurately the emotional rhythms of his personality; 
though they are, of course, in some measure subject to modi- 
fication through culture. And yet if any man's written or 
spoken productions be examined, these proportions are so 
constant and general that they must indicate an organization 
of the emotional nature so fundamental that they can only 

1 See Scott's " Psychology of Public Speaking," pp. 136-7. 






I32 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in a measure be changed. To force a radical change, were 
it practicable, would most probably result in a strained 
artificiality of style which would be very unpleasant. He 
can, however, develop these qualities of style, which he can- 
not fundamentally change ; can so cultivate himself that the 
peculiar rhythm of style which naturally flows from his 
emotional organization may find its purest and most ade- 
quate expression. By the general culture of his inner life, 
i.e., by developing his capacity of feeling until he acquires 
the power to realize with proper intensity a wider range of 
the feelings normal to man, he may doubtless modify to a 
considerable extent the fundamental emotional trends of his 
nature, and in this way largely influence his style, so that 
it will be more responsive to various emotional rhythms. 

Important also is the structure of the sentence, as simple 
or involved, periodic or loose and straggling. 1 Each, of 
course, has his own penchant for involution or simplicity in 
the construction of sentences; but this, it would appear, is 
less deeply rooted in his psychological constitution, is more a 
matter of intellectual habit and can, therefore, be more 
easily modified by practice than his tendency to use sentences 
of a certain length, containing a certain number of predica- 
tions, or than his tendency to use a certain proportion of 
long and short sentences. One can by mechanically work- 
ing over his sentences relieve them of obscurity and invo- 
lution; and by constant attention, correct this fault in his 
spoken language until he becomes master of a clear and 
simple style. But if he tries in this way to efTect a funda- 
mental change in the peculiarities of his style mentioned 
above, he will either fail altogether or end by deforming his 
own characteristic mode of expression without acquiring 
facility in another. 

3. Now, in conclusion, it is apparent that there should be 

1 Reference here may be made to any standard work on Rhetoric. 
See a good discussion of the structure of sentences in Broadus' 
" Preparation and Delivery of Sermons," pp. 375-6, 386-8. A good 
discussion of this matter from the psychological point of view may 
be found in Scott's " Psychology of Public Speaking," Chap. VIII. 



THE EXCITATION OF FEELING 133 

harmony between the emotions evoked by the three types of 
emotional stimuli we have discussed, viz., rhythm of style, 
images or ideas, and the manner of delivery. If there is dis- 
harmony between the emotions awakened by these several 
forms of stimuli, the result will be that the inharmonious 
emotions will tend to cancel one another ; and the effect will 
be reduced, or may be rendered altogether unpleasant. It is 
perhaps not an exaggeration to say that every feeling or 
general class of feelings, either simple or complex — such as 
love, hate, joy, sorrow, indignation, reverence, admiration, 
contrition, hope, fear, etc., etc. — has not only its appropriate 
ideational or imaginal stimuli and its suitable expression in 
tones, gestures and poses of the body, but also its peculiar 
rhythms. Hence it is that nearly all men find it easy to give a 
proper rendering of some emotions and to awaken them in 
the hearer; and difficult, if not impossible, to express and 
awaken others. Napoleon was a genius in stirring the 
martial feelings in his soldiers, but doubtless would have 
found it impossible to melt them to tears of compassion for 
the suffering and dying. Each man has his particular emo- 
tional vein, and has a corresponding control of that class of 
feelings in others. Some orators have an extraordinary 
command of pathos ; others of humour — and these are often 
found together; others are witty, and find it easy to kindle 
with that divine spark the emotion of pleasant surprise; 
others awaken with ease aggressive self-feeling, and stir 
their hearers to combat or achievement ; others have a genius 
for consolation, and comfort the sorrowing; others are 
prone to fan the flames of anger; others bear us up on the 
currents of lofty aspiration; others speak, and the tumul- 
tuous impulses of the heart sink into an unrippled calm, like 
the waves of Galilee under the command of Jesus. It is 
well that there is such a variety in the emotional power of 
speakers. But it is fortunate when a speaker has a variously 
responsive soul and can touch the whole gamut of human 
feelings, as some rarely gifted men seem able to do. Too 
often the preacher is limited in the range of his emotional ap- 



134 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

peals. If he relates in vivid imagery the most pathetic inci- 
dent, the style and delivery are too vigorous and strident and 
the effect is either lost or is positively disagreeable. Or he 
may wish to arouse in his hearers a martial ardour and send 
them forth to storm the strong-holds of evil, and there is no 
fight in his style and his delivery suggests a retreat rather 
than a charge. Doubtless this is one of the main reasons 
why the people soon tire of a preacher, and for him a change 
of pastorates becomes the chief desideratum. The emotional 
life of the congregation starves. If it is one of the principal 
functions of preaching to cultivate the sentiments, the emo- 
tional dispositions, of the people and organize their emo- 
tional life around great ethical and spiritual principles, 
surely the preacher should strive to acquire the largest pos- 
sible command of the means by which feelings of the most 
various types may be aroused. 



CHAPTER VII 

BELIEF 

Attention has been called to the fact that anything pre- 
sented to a mind is accepted as real without hesitation or 
questioning unless there is something in the experience or 
the organization of that mind which opposes it. There 
seems, however, to be one limiting condition. In order to 
make clear what that is let us use one of Prof. James' 
illustrations. " Suppose," he says, " a new-born mind, en- 
tirely blank and waiting for experience to begin. Suppose 
that it begins in the form of a visual impression of a lighted 
candle against a dark background and nothing else, so that 
while this image lasts it constitutes the entire universe 
known to the mind in question. Suppose, moreover, that 
the candle is only imaginary and that no ' original ' of it is 
recognized by us Psychologists outside. . . . Will this hal- 
lucinatory candle be believed in, will it have a real existence 
for the mind?" 1 

Now, this question he answers in the affirmative. But in 
this he is, it seems to me, manifestly mistaken. In the first 
place, it involves an error to speak of the candle in such a 
case as " known." Knowledge involves consciousness of 
relation, and this implies the presence of two or more images 
in consciousness. The perception of relations, or any an- 
alysis of this total impression into its constitutent elements, 
is not possible before there have been present to conscious- 
ness more than one presentation. Indeed, if we can legit- 
imately speak of " consciousness " at all in such a hypotheti- 
cal situation, we can only mean a primordial and undiffer- 

1 " Principles of Psychology," Vol. II, p. 287. 

135 



17,6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

entiated psychical state which really precedes conciousness 
in any clearly denned sense of the word. Knowledge, in any 
accurate meaning of the term, is inapplicable here and so is 
belief. The child would neither accept nor reject the pres- 
entation — it would be neither real nor unreal. To speak 
of the child's accepting it as real or rejecting it as unreal 
is to attribute to the child our own mental processes. To 
say that because the child does not reject the candle-impres- 
sion as unreal it accepts it as real, is to assume that the 
logical category of contradiction applies to that primordial 
mental experience, that the child is conscious of the relation 
of images to one another, whereas by hypothesis this is the 
single and sole image which has entered into its experience. 
For the mental act or attitude of belief to occur it is neces- 
sary that there should have been more than one experience, 
more than one image, more than a simple and undiffer- 
entiated mental content ; and that a beginning at least should 
have been made in the organization or correlation of those 
contents — a process which goes on very rapidly in the life 
of the child. 

Whenever, then, the mind's reaction to a stimulus is suf- 
ficiently definite to be called belief or unbelief it is con- 
ditioned by the present mental content and organization. 
" Possession is nine points of the law " is a saw which has 
as much validity in the psychological as in the economic 
realm. The mind reacts as a whole upon a new presenta- 
tion. In more abstract phrase we may say that the appro- 
priation of new mental material is a function of the mind as 
previously organized. After the new material has been in- 
corporated into the mental system it then plays its part also 
in determining the mental attitude toward subsequent pres- 
entations. 

I. There are as many as six distinguishable ways in 
which the mind may react to new presentations. 

I. First, it may feel itself compelled to accept the new 
presentation as real or true. It is helpless before the pres- 
entation; cannot resist it. There may be no perceived 



BELIEF 137 

opposition between the presentation and the mental organ- 
ization and consequently no impulse to reject it, and no 
hesitation in accepting it; and in such a situation, as will 
later, be pointed out, the mind cannot reject what is pre- 
sented to it. But it is not this negative inability of which I 
now speak. The characteristic note of the reaction now 
under consideration is that the presentation has a positive 
and compelling character ; it must be received; it not only 
bears credentials which entitle it to be believed, but it comes 
too strongly armed to be rejected. It may be in large 
measure inconsistent with the mental organization in both 
its ideational and affective elements, but so much the 
worse for the mental organization. The presentation in this 
case necessitates a reorganization, and that means, of course, 
that it is disagreeable and would be rejected if that were 
practicable. There may arise an impulse to reject it, but the 
sense of necessity overwhelms such an impulse at its very 
birth; the presentation asserts itself and compels belief, 
whether or no. In such situations the mind is dealing either 
with presentations of the sensory type, which come with the 
clear and emphatic testimony of the senses ; or with those 
which bear the stamp of logical necessity, such as mathemat- 
ical axioms and the demonstrations based upon them, or the 
principles of contradiction, identity, etc. 

We shall not enter here into the question, which belongs 
to the theory of knowledge, whether or not these axiomatic 
principles themselves have an empirical origin. If their 
origin should be accounted for in that way, it seems evident 
that at any rate they do not originate in the experience of 
the present-day individual, though doubtless they are devel- 
oped, brought into conciousness, through individual experi- 
ence. Certain it is that when the mind is confronted by the 
clear testimony of the senses or by an axiom, it feels the 
necessity of accepting such a presentation as real, or true, 
provided it occurs in harmony with the conditions under 
which our senses normally give us information or under 
which our minds normally act. The only hesitation or ques- 



I38 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tion which we feel to be permissible is as to whether the con- 
ditions of perception are normal. If we are convinced that 
they are normal it puts an end to hesitation. 

Now, should this mental reaction be called belief? I 
think so. If I ask why I thus unhesitatingly accept the tes- 
timony of my senses or the truth of the mathematical axiom, 
the only answer that can be given is that I believe my senses 
give a correct report of reality or that I believe my mind is 
so constituted as to know truth. The fact that this belief is 
developed into full consciousness in philosophical meditation 
after the experience and is not a part of the conscious expe- 
rience at the moment of perception makes no essential dif- 
ference. It was implicit in the act. I accept and must ac- 
cept the testimony of my senses or the truth of the axiom 
when such a presentation is made under normal conditions ; 
but this necessity does not change its character as belief. 

2. The mind may passively admit the presentation as 
true. In this case the new presentation, being not of the 
sensory or axiomatic order, does not call forth the sense 
of necessity. It does not in any positive or significant way 
agree with the already existing mental content or organiza- 
tion. It simply does not consciously conflict with anything 
in the mental system. It is simply negative with respect to 
the present mental content. So far as what is already in 
consciousness is concerned there is no positive reason for 
accepting or rejecting it. It is then passively admitted, 
taken as true. It finds ample room in the world of belief 
as constituted. The best examples of this kind of belief are 
found in children. The child, for instance, is told the story 
of Santa Claus. Its limited experience contains nothing 
that is inconsistent with the story; it, therefore, accepts, be- 
lieves it. At first this experience may be thought to be 
identical in principle with that described in James' illustra- 
tion; but this would be a mistake. In the acceptance of 
Santa Claus as real the child is acting with an already organ- 
ized consciousness, whereas in the first presentation to the 
new-born babe there is no previous experience, no organized 



BELIEF 139 

consciousness, no criteria of reality, no basis for the forma- 
tion of a judgment as to the reality or unreality of any- 
thing. When it believes in the existence of Santa Claus 
the presentation bears some relation to the existing content 
of consciousness, a relation which may be described as nega- 
tive agreement, and any presentation which bears this rela- 
tion to its experience is accepted as true. But in James' 
illustration there is no relation whatever with any other 
content of the mind for the simple reason that there is no 
other content, and therefore no mental attitude of belief 
such as is here described. This type of belief may well be 
described as primitive credulity. Many of the contents of 
the child's mental world are of this character. Indeed, to 
the end of its life, though it may grow to be a great philos- 
opher with an extensive and critically constructed mental 
system, many of its beliefs will continue to be of this order, 
accepted simply because it is of the nature of the mind to 
accept what is presented to it, if there is no conscious con- 
flict with the mental life as previously organized. But the 
building up of an elaborate and reflective correlation of ex- 
perience establishes a habit of critical examination, which 
takes the form of intellectual caution and which is applied, 
often with no conscious intention, to new presentations, 
especially in the sphere of one's principal activity and usually 
in matters of incidental interest ; so that, as a general rule, 
with broadening experience credulity becomes a diminish- 
ing factor in determining beliefs. But it is an extremely im- 
portant factor in the lives of children, of ignorant persons 
and of all persons of limited experience. 

3. The mind may positively receive the new presentation, 
may welcome it with more or less cordiality. As in the 
second case, it is not of the sensory or axiomatic type. It 
does not come bearing credentials of inherent and irresistible 
validity, like the clear testimony of the senses or the logical 
axiom. But though it is not in itself irresistible, it is at once 
felt to be in positive agreement with the existing mental 
content. It fits into the system. With more or less definite- 



■I40 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ness it is perceived to dove-tail into the mental structure so 
as to fill out in some measure the " noetic pattern," to use a 
phrase of Marshall's. It is an element which carries a step 
toward fulfilment the incomplete mental organization. 
When this peculiar experience is of a pronounced type, the 
new presentation is felt to be not only a supplement to but 
a confirmation of the system of ideas, not only fitting in har- 
moniously with it but bringing to it an increment of stabil- 
ity; and is accompanied, therefore, by a distinctly pleasant 
feeling-tone. So to speak, the mind stretches out to it glad 
hands of welcome and ushers it into a room which seems 
prepared for it beforehand, 

For inducing an act of belief like this it is, of course, only 
necessary that the new presentation should be in harmony 
with the content of consciousness at the time. There may 
be other elements of experience not at the time in conscious- 
ness with which the agreement would not be so entire ; and 
later when the effort is made to bring these elements into 
conscious relation with the new fact or idea, trouble may be- 
gin — a quarrel may arise between these elements and the 
new-comer so cordially welcomed at first. Again, there 
may be implicit disharmony between the new presentation 
and the elements that were in consciousness when it was 
accepted, and this disharmony may subsequently become 
apparent. The very host that welcomed the new inmate 
may discover on further acquaintance that there were deep- 
seated incompatibilities which did not appear at the time. 
Subsequent reflection may make these apparent, and thus an 
unexpected conflict may result. This, of course, is more 
likely to occur in active and progressive than in static mental 
conditions. But whatever the subsequent fate of the new 
fact or idea may be, it is believed, accepted as true or real, 
if it seems to be in harmony with the conscious mental sys- 
tem at the time of perception; and this acceptance is em- 
phatic, i.e., the belief is positive, in proportion as it is felt 
to confirm that system. If in the course of later reflection 
and mental reorganization that first " feeling " is justified, 



• BELIEF 141 

the positiveness of the belief will be increased. It will be- 
come deeply rooted in the mental world. 

4. The mind may receive the presentation with more or 
less suspicion, as tentatively true or real. This species of 
reaction is determined by the fact that, while the new pres- 
entation seems to be in agreement with the mental system, 
there accompanies its acceptance a vague sense of un- 
certainty as to whether the agreement is actual or com- 
plete. This vague uncertainty may be due to the general 
attitude of caution induced by manifold experience; or to 
the fact that the disagreeing factors are in the background, 
or perhaps below the threshold, of consciousness, and are in- 
directly projecting their influence into the conscious field. 
Every one has had experiences coloured in this way. For 
instance, a politician assures us of his devotion to the public 
welfare; but, although there is nothing known to us in his 
character or career to excite distrust and we therefore 
accept his assurances, we have been so often disappointed in 
men of this class that an almost inevitable shade of distrust 
goes with our acceptance. Or sometimes when a statement 
is made to us on good authority our minds are shadowed 
by a dim doubt of its correctness, the reasons for which we 
cannot explicitly state. We believe the statement — it 
seems to be in agreement with our experience — and wonder 
that our belief of it is not more hearty. There is a semi- 
conscious impulse to question, but not of sufficient strength 
to cause a suspension of judgment. There is merely a 
nascent sense of the possibility of discord with parts of our 
experience which are not now in consciousness. Closely 
akin to this attitude, most probably identical with it in prin- 
ciple, is our acceptance of an hypothesis which seems to em- 
body an illuminating principle, but which carries with it the 
possibility of failure in some as yet untried application. We 
believe it; but for a time, possibly forever, there accom- 
panies it a shadow of uncertainty which is not strong enough 
to neutralize its convincing power, but which nevertheless 
enters into and modifies our mental attitude. With broad- 



142 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ening experience that uncertainty may finally disappear and 
thus the mental attitude gradually change from a tentative 
to an unqualified belief. 

5. The mind may keep the presentation standing at the 
door, awaiting investigation. This type of reaction is of 
great importance. It is the attitude of suspended judgment 
The presentation which is a candidate for incorporation in 
our system of beliefs is held up for examination. This may 
be due, first, to its strangeness. The sense of possible con- 
flict with our organized experience may be so pronounced 
that we cannot admit the new presentation as true until that 
question is at least tentatively settled. It is a situation 
similar to that described in the last paragraph ; but with this 
important difference — the sense of uncertainty is much 
greater, and the quantitative difference in the sense of un- 
certainty is so great as to result in a mental reaction qual- 
itatively different. This may occur even in connection with 
the action of one of our senses. If the fact to which one 
sense testifies is an exceedingly strange one, we do not 
always accept it at once. We suspend judgment until we 
have assured ourselves that the sense is acting under normal 
conditions, and we commonly do this by trying the testimony 
of one sense against that of another. The eye, for instance, 
may testify to a ghostly apparition, and we test its truth 
by touch or some other sense. If the senses agree we accept 
their testimony as true. In principle the same course is 
often pursued when an hypothesis is proposed for the ex- 
planation of a problem and carries with it a " feeling " of 
important disagreement with our system of ideas, although 
the exact nature of the disagreement may not be obvious. 
We hold the proposition in suspense and investigate to see 
whether the suspected disagreement is actual and just how 
far it extends. If we discover that the discord is not mani- 
fest, or is only slight, the suspense of judgment which ar- 
rested the acceptance of the hypothesis gives way to the 
qualified acceptance discussed above. 

The suspended judgment may be due, second, to the fact 



BELIEF 143 

that two presentations which are clearly inconsistent with 
each other are offered to the mind at the same time; as, 
for instance, two mutually exclusive hypotheses which are 
proposed as alternative explanations of the same phenome- 
non. Each may have some points of agreement with the 
mental system, and neither may be in obvious discord with 
it. But while either hypothesis might, so far as its own evi- 
dence is concerned, be tentatively accepted, manifest conflict 
with one another will keep either from being adopted until 
investigation has determined which of them stands in the 
more obvious and general agreement with our organized 
experience. 

Or, third, this attitude may be due to the fact that there 
is manifest disagreement between that which offers itself 
and the mental system in which it seeks to be incorporated. 
The opposition may be more or less radical; but in such a 
case the acceptance will clearly require a more or less 
thorough reorganization of the mental life. The history of 
the conflict between science and theology is full of examples 
of this situation ; indeed, it is a frequently recurring phase 
of the progress of thought, and of the development of each 
individual mind which rises above the level of simple tra- 
ditionalism. But when this conflict takes place between a 
new idea and old system of ideas and results in the specific 
mental attitude of doubt, it is evident that the disagreement 
is not absolute ; the new idea must find some point of attach- 
ment to the mental organization, otherwise it would be in- 
stantly rejected, and doubt, the attitude of suspended judg- 
ment, would not occur. 

6. The mind may positively and unequivocally reject 
the new presentation — shut the door, so to speak, in its 
face. This may be called the attitude of the closed mind. 
The new idea is not given any showing at all. There is no 
suspension of judgment, no hanging fire, no investigation. 
Judgment is pronounced at once. The fact that its disagree- 
ment with the mental system is profound, and that it would, 
if judged as real, necessitate a general reconstruction of the 



144 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

mental world makes the new idea too disturbing to minds 
that have reached a certain stage of crystallization. If the 
disagreement is entire, it is judged as absurd and utterly 
unworthy of consideration. The whole mind reacts against 
it and judges it as untrue. There is no doubt in the atti- 
tude of the closed mind. Its characteristic note is the 
assertion of unconditional adherence to the existing system 
of beliefs and the simultaneous rejection of the presentation 
which conflicts with it. Of course, no mind becomes so 
completely crystallized as to resist unconditionally new ideas 
of every description; but it not unfrequently happens that 
one's system of ideas pertaining to some particular field of 
thought becomes so fixed as to exclude, automatically, so to 
speak, every suggestion which would involve any change of 
importance. This is often noticeable in the domain of the- 
ology or of politics. It is characteristic of the mental or- 
ganization of those who have reached advanced age in a 
provincial environment. 

II. Several important consequences may be deduced 
from the foregoing analysis of the mental functions, belief 
and doubt. 

I. The specific character, the quale, of belief is the ac- 
ceptance of a presentation as true. But what exactly is 
meant by " true " ? Without being led into a detailed dis- 
cussion of this difficult question, an answer sufficient for our 
purpose is that the " truth" of a presentation means that it 
may be taken as a safe basis of action. This is the true 
mark and measure of belief. All thinking has reference 
ultimately to action. One's mental system is his equip- 
ment for the direction and control of action, using the word 
in the general sense of conduct; and the reception of any 
new elements among his beliefs signifies the preparedness 
and purpose to act in accordance therewith when the occa- 
sion for it arises. The function of mind is to receive im- 
pressions, or presentations, from the environment, treasure 
them, correlate them and translate them into suitable acts of 
adjustment. That which to a mind is suitable to be trans- 



BELIEF 145 

lated into action is to that mind the " true " ; and is be- 
lieved. That which the mind suspects can not be acted upon 
safely is doubted. The body of beliefs which one holds is 
his correlation with the environment. By translating them 
into conduct as occasions arise he effects his adjustments 
to environment from moment to moment. There would 
seem, then, to be no line of absolute demarcation between 
knowledge and belief. They overlap and shade into one 
another. Our knowledge consists of the body of beliefs 
that have been thoroughly tested and found by actual results 
to be sure and safe guides to action. Our belief, which is 
not also knowledge, consists of the body of judgments which 
have been incorporated in our mental systems but which 
have not as yet been sufficiently tested to stand within that 
narrow circle. Knowledge is thoroughly tested belief ; and 
within this limit knowledge and belief are designations of 
the same mental content viewed from different angles. 

We have spoken of doubt as a state or attitude resulting 
from the arrest of the process of believing, and this exactly 
indicates its true character. It has been said truly that it is 
doubt which demands explanation, not belief. 1 It is nat- 
ural, normal to believe. It is the primary function of the 
mind to receive impressions from the environment and 
translate them into adjustments. In other words, it is its 
function to believe and govern action accordingly. Doubt 
arises in the arrest of this primary function through a con- 
flict between the practical tendencies of these impressions. 
Out of this state of things issues the secondary function 
of mind, thinking, i.e., comparison, deliberation, the effort to 
bring these conflicting tendencies into harmony, to correlate 
them in a higher unity ; and as the environment to which ad- 
justment must be made by the highly developed person be- 
comes exceedingly complex and changeful, this function 
comes to be so important that we ordinarily think of it as 
primary rather than secondary. 

2. Doubt, then, in its very nature is a temporary func- 

1 Pillsbury's " Psychology qf Reasoning," p. 25. 



I46 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tion. Chronic doubt is hurtful and ultimately ruinous. If 
it becomes permanent, it means the partial or complete sus- 
pension of the life-process in the sphere in which it obtains. 
Life is a process of adjustment, and doubt is an arrest of 
this process, and can be justified only as a means of avoid- 
ing a maladjustment, or as a step toward a more adequate 
adjustment, a wider and more complete correlation with en- 
vironment. It is somewhat like a surgical operation, which 
is intended to relieve a maladjustment of some sort; but a 
surgery which would keep a man's body perpetually on the 
operating table under the dissecting knife would be crim- 
inal. And doubt which keeps the mind in a perpetual sus- 
pense will certainly result in maiming the life in some of its 
functions, and if it becomes universal will destroy the per- 
sonality. It would mean the abdication of both the primary 
and secondary functions of mind. Doubt is justifiable* 
when, and only when, it is a temporary stage in the organisa- 
tion of a more adequate belief. As we climb up the moun- 
tain side to the higher altitudes whence we may have a 
wider outlook upon the universe of reality, it is often 
necessary that we pass through belts of cloud; and that 
which justifies and rewards us for climbing through the 
choking mists is the grander prospect which opens out above 
them. 

3. The closed mind, on the other hand, is equally fatal. 
It avoids the dangers of chronic doubt, but has dangers 
of its own that are just as great. It leads one by a different 
route to a different destination, but one that is as far re- 
moved from the true ends of life. The closed mind has a 
belief and is active, therefore ; whereas the mind suspended 
in chronic doubt is paralysed. But the closed mind directs 
its activities more and more against reality. The beliefs of 
such a mind represent a certain correlation with a certain 
order of environing conditions. But this attitude could be 
justified only on two grounds — (1) that those beliefs rep- 
resent a perfect correlation with those conditions, (2) that 
those conditions undergo no change. We know as a mat- 



BELIEF 147 

ter of fact that neither of these assumptions is ever realized 
in the experience of finite minds. The correlation is never 
perfect and the conditions are always changing. The closed 
mind, therefore, falls into an increasingly serious maladjust- 
ment to the actual conditions of life, which is only another 
way of saying into increasingly hurtful error and opposi- 
tion to the truth ; and this means that its activities are ever 
increasingly destructive to itself and others. To assume 
this attitude is to abdicate both the primary and the second- 
ary functions of the mind ; for we must remember that its 
primary function is to receive impressions from the environ- 
ment and direct conduct according to them, and if all pres- 
entations not in agreement with the existing mental system 
are to be on that ground rejected, this function is no longer 
performed so far as its most important value for life is con- 
cerned. It also means the discontinuance of the function 
of thinking, for the characteristic mark of thought is the 
comparison of ideas with one another, and its most impor- 
tant value for life is the resolution of conflicts between 
them, the elimination of the totally false and the correlation 
of those which are in any measure true into a higher unity, 
a larger truth. For the close mind the thinking does not 
pass beyond the primary stage of perceiving the disagree- 
ment with the present mental system, whereupon the new 
idea is instantly judged as false. The most dangerous man 
in politics — excepting him whose vote is for sale — is the 
one who will not consider new ideas, and the same attitude 
of mind in religion is a constant obstruction to the progress 
of the truth. 

The only mental attitude, therefore, which is consistent 
with the maintenance and development of life is that of the 
open mind, which is exposed, indeed, to the dangers of 
doubt but which is also accessible to larger truth, whose 
shadow doubt so often is. In this attitude we may move 
forever upward toward the infinitely distant goal of abso- 
lute truth, the perfect mental correlation with the universe 
of reality. The open mind is as far removed from the 



I48 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

paralysis of chronic doubt as it is from the dead crystalliza- 
tion of the mind which never doubts because it refuses to 
think. The open mind is not at all inconsistent with positive 
conviction and constructive activity; rather the contrary. 
It has convictions that have been so thoroughly tested in the 
crucible of thought that opposing ideas can be met without 
awakening disturbing fears; and its activity is constructive 
because the true definition of construction is the more per- 
fect correlation of life with environment. 

III. If we compare the conditions under which belief 
and doubt occur and the conditions under which feeling 
arises, the intimate connection between them becomes ap- 
parent. 

In the first place, it is evident that the act of belief, con- 
sidered in and by itself alone, is pleasantly toned, because 
it is an experience which falls in with and quickens the 
mental process actually going on. This, however, is often 
obscured by the fact that the content of the belief, the thing 
believed, imposes a decided check upon the deeper instinc- 
tive tendencies and processes of life. The pleasure which 
the mere act of believing causes is thus submerged and lost 
in the stronger tide of unpleasantness caused by the disagree- 
able idea or fact believed. Likewise the suspense of doubt, 
in and by itself, is always unpleasant; except, perhaps, in 
the case of the chronic doubter, who has formed the habit of 
doubt, which each suspension of judgment coincides with 
and strengthens. And even then, as in the case of every bad 
habit, the experience is not one of pure and unmixed pleas- 
ure but is shot through with a vague unpleasantness, due to 
the fact that the habit is in opposition to fundamental vital 
processes. 

In the second place, it is apparent not only that belief and 
doubt are accompanied by feeling-tones but that these atti- 
tudes are in some measure determined by feelings. Differ- 
ences of opinion may exist as to the emphasis which should 
be placed upon feeling as a factor in determining these re- 
actions, and it may be claimed that it does not play an 



BELIEF 149 

equally important role in their determination in all minds, 
because all minds are not equal in their capacity for feeling. 
Minds vary in sensibility ; vary not only as to the keenness 
of the feeling awakened by the same stimulus but as to the 
strength of their feeling responses in general. And, other 
things being equal, the mind of keen and delicate sensibility 
may possibly be more influenced by feeling in the accept- 
ance of presentations than the mind of dull sensibility. 
However that may be, it is certain that in minds of unusual 
sensibility the influence of the feelings in this respect is more 
apparent ; though, perhaps, if we could lay bare the inner life 
of all minds we should discover that they differ from one 
another in this matter, not as to the extent to which feeling 
influences the acceptance of new ideas or facts, but as to the 
intensity or positiveness of the beliefs so determined. The 
mind of extreme sensibility holds its beliefs more pas- 
sionately, more dogmatically, than the mind of dull sensi- 
bility. Its beliefs have for a mind of great sensibility a 
value, a preciousness, which they do not have for a mind of 
the opposite type ; though probably feeling is equally potent 
in each in determining the content of belief. 

But how does feeling operate in the determination of 
belief? Manifestly it is not the sole factor. It does not 
operate apart from the organized experience as represented 
in the system of ideas. Belief is the acceptance of a pres- 
entation and its instalment in this system of ideas based 
upon the perception of agreement between the two. Feel- 
ing, then, must become influential in determining belief by 
exercising some measure of control over the action of con- 
sciousness as organized in this system. It operates as a 
power behind the throne. 

First, it influences the direction of the attention. Feel- 
ing is the peculiar emphasis of meaning for the self with 
which each presentation is clothed as consciousness is di- 
rected upon it. It is obvious that the specific feeling which 
accompanies the direction of the attention does not de- 
termine this act ; but the mood, or the course of feeling, or 



150 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the general emotional situation, which is the resultant of the 
preceding mental activity, will unquestionably influence the 
direction of the attention. Among the presentations filing 
in a continuous series across the threshold of the mind, or 
appealing for its recognition all at once, some are singled 
out and given consideration ; others are neglected, or pass on 
with scant attention. The mind is interested in some of 
them and not in others, and towards the latter it assumes 
no definite conscious attitude. Towards the former it as- 
sumes a definite attitude, which as it develops must resolve 
itself into belief — acceptance as real or true ; or doubt — 
hesitation to accept as true or real; or rejection — judgment 
as untrue or unreal. Feeling, therefore, has much to do in 
the direction of this selective process which singles out the 
matter upon which consciousness is concentrated; and this 
surely is a most important function. 

Second, feeling not only has much to do in controlling the 
direction of the attention, but is also very influential in de- 
termining the attitude which the mind takes toward the new 
object. Not only the general mood or state of feeling, but 
the specific feeling which accompanies the concentration of 
consciousness upon the object determines to a large extent 
how the mind will treat it. If the feeling excited by the ob- 
ject is distinctly unpleasant, it inevitably tends to induce hes- 
itation, and this is practically another name for doubt. This 
is especially true if the feeling is one that arises out of the 
deep instinctive stratum of our mental life. The fact or 
idea against which a strong feeling raises this initial pro- 
test is not likely to be accepted until it has shown clear cre- 
dentials, even though there may be no apparent intellectual 
inconsistency, no disagreement with the system of ideas. It 
will be required to give positive and convincing evidence of 
its right to stand within the circle of beliefs. The merely 
negative evidence of the absence of perceived disagreement 
will not suffice. If it runs counter to our desires, our in- 
clinations, our hopes, it will be held up for further investiga- 
tion, if it is not instantly rejected. 



BELIEF 151 

Moreover, while the investigation is going on its points 
of agreement with our mental system are minimized and its 
points of disagreement magnified; points of disagreement 
are diligently sought for and points of agreement are not. 
Throughout the whole process, therefore, feeling is active 
and powerfully influences the action of the intellect. If the 
feeling aroused by the presentation is emphatically unpleas- 
ant, it is rarely possible to keep the balances of the judgment 
even. Such an unpleasant feeling excites suspicion against 
the object, to begin with; acts as sheriff to arrest the sus- 
pect ; then assumes the role of the detective to search out the 
damaging evidence; plays attorney for the prosecution; 
undertakes to weigh the evidence as juror, and even seeks 
to interpret the law as judge. It is omnipresent, urgent, 
subtilely influencing the proceedings at every stage. Pos- 
sibly it becomes too busy and domineering and in the highly 
organized person may cause a reaction by awakening some 
counter-feeling, such as mental self-respect, or the love of 
truth for truth's sake, or the sense of justice; and in this 
way only can the original feeling of displeasure evoked by 
the disagreeable idea or fact be checked and held within 
proper limits. But in persons whose mental development is 
not high, the feeling, pleasant or unpleasant, called forth 
by a presentation generally secures a verdict for or against 
it, unless the evidence the other way is overwhelming. The 
speaker who wishes to secure assent to a proposition will 
always find himself rowing against a powerful current, if it 
excites a decidedly disagreeable feeling. If, on the other 
hand, the feeling aroused is a distinctly pleasant one, he finds 
himself sailing both with wind and current in his favour. 
Such a decidedly agreeable feeling directs attention to its 
points of agreement with the system of ideas and diverts 
attention from its disagreements; underscores the former 
and leaves the latter unemphasized, even when they are too 
obvious to be wholly overlooked; searches for agreements, 
which it is likely to find because it seeks for them; and, 
unless by its excesses it starts into activity some counter- 



152 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

feeling, which enters the game, or unless the disagreements 
with one's organized experience are so numerous, distinct 
and obtrusive as to render reconciliation impossible, it will 
probably secure the mind's assent to the new presentation. 

Now, when we reflect that the majority of the contents of 
one's intellectual system have secured their introduction into 
it through these processes, it is apparent that, while feeling 
does not exercise an absolute control — since many unpleas- 
ant things have to be accepted — it has been a most potent 
factor in the organization of one's whole system of beliefs; 
and, through its extensive control over the activity of the 
system which it has been so potent in forming, is constantly 
influencing the incorporation of new materials in it. 

IV. If we look back over the foregoing analysis of 
mental attitudes, we perceive that there are three general 
classes of beliefs — those which have their basis in the nat- 
ural credulity of the mind, those which rest principally upon 
positive agreement with the intellectual system, and those 
which derive their certification chiefly from powerful feel- 
ings that spring from one's instinctive organization. The 
first can be referred to the suggestibility of the mind; the 
second to its rationality ; and the third, if I may coin a word, 
to its affectability, i.e., to its capacity for suffering and en- 
joyment. We are beings who have conscious needs and 
desires, who must live or die and who crave life. Out of 
this deep instinctive substratum of our nature spring long- 
ings for certain kinds of satisfactions, and these longings 
generate belief in the reality of those objects which are 
necessary to their satisfaction. 

We may distinguish, then, primitive credulity, rational 
conviction and vital assurance. Credulity believes things 
because it is told that they are true. It is natural and beauti- 
ful in the child, because the child has had but little experi- 
ence and has, therefore, no well-established positive standard 
of critical judgment. In credulity its mental life normally 
begins. But it does not by any means excite our admiration 
when we observe it in the grown person, because the grown 



BELIEF 153 

person has had experience and opportunity to organize his 
intellectual life, and thus should be equipped to weigh and 
consider all presentations that seek admittance to his mind 
as truth. We consider it, therefore, abnormal and repre- 
hensible for him, in matters of important concern, to accept 
what he is told without the exercise of his own reason. In 
no matter of great practical importance should his belief 
rest blindly upon authority, the subjective correlate of 
which is suggestibility. It should have its roots in himself. 
It should be tested in the crucible of his own intellect. If he 
believes the statements of others it should not be the acqui- 
escence of mere credulity, but the assent of a rationally 
acting mind. Vital assurance also stands in antithesis to 
credulous belief, but not to rational conviction. It is dis- 
tinct from the latter in principle but is not inconsistent 
with it. By its very nature its content often is not subject 
to final ratification by the logical faculty. That content, 
however, should not be inconsistent with the rational con- 
clusions of the mind ; and if such an inconsistency appears, 
the strength of the vital assurance is weakened in proportion 
to the depth of the antagonism. There should be harmony 
between the two in order to secure inward peace and unity 
and a high degree of practical efficiency. And on the whole 
there is a tendency for the two types of belief to coincide. 

Sometimes, however, it happens that a man builds up a 
belief on what seems to him at the time a rational basis; 
but subsequently, when a powerful stimulation of the in- 
stinctive nature occurs, he finds that this belief denies sat- 
isfaction to some of his most vital longings. Sometimes, 
again, it happens that beliefs which do satisfy the instinctive 
longings are wrought into an intellectual system which new 
knowledge seems to render untenable. Then there is dis- 
tress of mind. In the long run a man will usually build a 
structure of belief that is consistent with the central cravings 
of his nature; but such a fortunate adjustment does not 
always take place, and he is then left with a permanent and 
more or less painful discord in his mental life. Such situa- 



154 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tions have been frequent in the history of religion, and 
especially so in recent times. Sometimes again, a man will 
entertain a belief of the credulous or the rational type, 
which has comparatively little influence upon his practical 
life until some powerful stimulation of his instinctive nature 
vivifies it and converts it into a vital assurance which pro- 
foundly modifies his conduct. Many a man accepts the ex- 
istence of God through social suggestion, or as a result of 
reasoning; but the belief remains to a large extent formal 
and inoperative so far as the more important aspects of con- 
duct are concerned, until in some great crisis his vital long- 
ing for divine support and fellowship is awakened and the 
realization of God becomes the source of his deepest satis- 
faction and the controlling influence in his conduct. 

The distinction between these types of belief must not be 
understood to imply that feeling is not operative in the 
formation of all of them. The distinction lies, first, in the 
different degrees and modes of influence exerted by the in- 
tellect and the feelings in their formation; and, second, in 
the operation of a special class of feelings in the production 
of vital assurances. Feeling has comparatively little to do 
with what is accepted by the credulous mind under the in- 
fluence of suggestion; although it is not an insignificant 
factor. In rational conviction the intellect plays a far more 
positive role than in credulity and a far less dominant 
role than in vital assurance; though feeling has a more 
definite and important part in it than in credulity. In vital 
assurance, as already indicated, a special class of feelings 
which spring from the deepest depths of our nature is the 
controlling factor. The sponsor, the guarantor, of vital 
assurance is neither external authority nor the intellectual 
system, but the fundamental needs of human nature voicing 
themselves in powerful emotions when deep instincts are 
excited. 

One's real religious belief, stripped of all the remnants or 
accretions of credulity, belongs to the class of vital assur- 
ances. It is the affirmation of the reality of the super- 



BELIEF 155 

sensible objects and relations which are felt to be necessary 
for the satisfaction of the fundamental needs of the per- 
sonality. It declares that back of all sensory experiences — 
the material universe — are beings, activities, tendencies, 
ends, which constitute the ultimate meaning of all life. In 
this assurance the cognitive activity is motived by deep in- 
stinctive longings. These postulates of the heart are at 
most only negatively controlled by the intellectual system; 
and often the stress of these vital needs impels the intellect 
to reconstruct the system of ideas which places its veto upon 
them. It has been truly said : " The soul likes to project 
that which is most deeply rooted in its own being furthest 
beyond itself. The objective lies for it, so to speak, in the 
middle distance ; but that which is inmost, which originates 
in the most subjective stratum of the soul, it extends from 
itself into an Absolute, Overobjective." * That is, our own 
inmost heart postulates for us a universe of reality that lies 
beyond the objective world of the senses. The formulation 
of this reality is the work of the intellect, but in that work 
it is controlled by affection and desire. The soul, using the 
imagination as a brush, paints the far background of exist- 
ence in the colours of its own intimate feelings. We require 
a spiritual world which will answer and satisfy our central 
cravings. Thus the Psalmist cried, " My soul thirsteth for 
God." 

Since, however, we are under the necessity of conceiving, 
of clothing in intellectual forms, the supersensible reality 
which the heart postulates, no little trouble arises in the 
realm of belief. The materials which the intellect uses are 
sensuous images. Its most abstract constructions are built 
up out of these images. We have to dress up the super- 
sensible in the garments furnished by the senses. When the 
intellect has thus formulated what the heart has postulated 
in the realm beyond the senses, these forms themselves can 
not be changed without a profound disturbance of the heart. 
But as the intellectual system undergoes reorganization, as 

1 Simmel, " Die Probleme der Geschichtsphilosophie," p. 154. 



I56 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

it inevitably must in active minds, those forms which are 
part and parcel of that system must share in the recon- 
struction. Hence arises religious doubt. If, as sometimes 
happens, the intellect in its reconstituted system of ideas 
repudiates entirely these forms and undertakes by itself to 
give an account of all reality, the result is a rationalistic phi- 
losophy, which inevitably leaves the deeper cravings of the 
heart unsatisfied. Such a system cannot long endure. The 
heart will make its demands heard. On the other hand; if 
the heart demands that the forms in which its postulates 
have been clothed by the intellect shall never be altered, one 
of two results will inevitably follow — either intellectual 
growth will be arrested, or else the old forms will be filled 
with a new content of meaning. 

The struggle between the head and the heart is one of the 
most significant phenomena of our times. In some persons 
their reconcilation is never effected. The most notable ex- 
ample, perhaps, of this refusal of the head and the heart to 
co-operate was Herbert Spencer. There is a singular 
pathos in the following words near the end of his Auto- 
biography. After discussing the vastness and the manifold 
mystery of the universe, and declaring the impotency of the 
intellect to comprehend it, he adds : " And along with this 
rises the paralyzing thought — what if, of all that is thus 
incomprehensible to us, there exists no comprehension any- 
where? No wonder that men take refuge in authoritative 
dogma! . . . Thus religious creeds, which in one way 
or other, occupy the sphere which rational interpretation 
seeks to occupy and fails, and fails the more, the more it 
seeks, I have come to regard with sympathy based on com- 
munity of need ; feeling that dissent from them results from 
inability to accept the solutions offered, joined with a wish 
that solutions could be found." He was only a distinguished 
member of that large, and probably growing, community of 
souls whose hearts require a religious interpretation of the 
universe, but whose intellectual systems are in disagreement 
with any such interpretation as has been offered. 



BELIEF 157 

There is a still larger number who have not repudiated 
all religious interpretations, leaving their hearts in naked 
want, but are more or less conscious of lack of harmony 
between their systems of thought and these interpretations, 
and yet strive to hold on to both. They can take refuge 
on neither horn of the dilemma. There is lack of unity in 
their inner lives. The sense of uncertainty hangs like a 
discouraging shadow over their mental life, not wholly par- 
alyzing but relaxing the nerve of religious belief. Their 
mental equilibrium, so far as religion is concerned, is very 
unstable. Religious belief has a very insecure support in in- 
tellectual forms. It stands like a tree clinging with a few 
roots to the bank of the stream whose waters have nearly 
deprived it of sustaining earth. 

As preachers we must face the immensely significant fact 
that we are living in an era of doubt. The age is dynamic, 
changeful. Modes of life are constantly and rapidly chang- 
ing; so are points of view. New discoveries are made al- 
most every year, some of them seeming to call for profound 
alterations in our conceptions of the world. Radical the- 
ories are ever and anon propounded, and some of them 
with apparent foundation in facts. No sooner are funda- 
mental questions supposed to be settled than they are re- 
opened. Men's heads grow dizzy. Nor is it possible to 
foresee a time when it will be otherwise. Rather the tumult 
of intellectual change seems on the increase. But in the 
meantime the instinctive hunger of the soul abides. How 
shall we find a way to keep secure the postulates of the heart 
and harmonize them with the conclusions of the intellect? 
We cannot afford to set ourselves against the increase of 
knowledge or the process of intellectual reconstruction. 
That would stultify us and would not preserve our vital as- 
surance of the essential spirituality of the universe. 

But before we proceed to consider the relation of the 
preacher to the religious doubt of this age, we should note 
the fact that there is a species of doubt which originates in 
personal inclinations. Feeling may generate doubt as well 



I58 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

as belief. Evil habits of life often give rise to feelings 
which repel a religious conception of the world, and in- 
fluence the intellect to question the existence of a holy Su- 
preme Being and the moral order of the world. The 
debauche, the thief, the murderer have powerful reasons, 
not of the intellectual but of the emotional type, for wishing 
that the world were without a moral meaning or a moral 
ruler; and in this region of the mental life, more absolutely 
than in any other, " the wish is father to the thought." 

V. In conclusion, some paragraphs must be given to the 
consideration of the practical question toward which this 
discussion has looked from the beginning, namely, the 
preacher's relation to religious doubt. The question as it 
relates to the preacher's own doubts cannot now be consid- 
ered in detail; though it may be remarked in passing that 
his attitude toward other doubters will be necessarily in- 
fluenced by his own experience. 

Every case of doubt is clearly a special problem and should 
be dealt with as such. Personal idiosyncrasies figure 
largely in each, and only general rules can be laid down. 
But in any case the preacher's primary duty is to understand. 
It is the especial function of preaching to present religious 
truth in such a way as to secure its intelligent and whole- 
hearted acceptance, and through genuine belief to influence 
conduct in right directions. But if the preacher be igno- 
rant of the nature of doubt and of the conditions under 
which it arises, his dealing with it will be unintelligent, 
misdirected and often disastrous. In general it may also be 
said that sympathetic treatment alone is appropriate and 
effective. Denunciation, while it has its limited function in 
preaching, should never be used to bring the doubter to the 
belief of the truth. The preacher who in such cases in- 
dulges in denunciation, with the notion that he is following 
the example of Jesus, makes a capital mistake from which a 
knowledge of the nature of doubt would have saved him. 
Those cases which called forth the lightning-like denuncia- 
tions of Jesus were typical examples, not of doubt, but of the 



BELIEF 159 

closed mind, a mental state which lies at the opposite ex- 
treme from doubt. 

There is, of course, a form of doubt which is called dis- 
honest, and dishonesty should always be severely dealt with. 
But careful discrimination should be exercised in this mat- 
ter. If doubt really exists, no matter what influences have 
induced it, it is a real state of mental uncertainty; and de- 
nunciation is misdirected if aimed at this state. Let it 
rather be directed at those courses of conduct which have 
induced it. If evil courses of conduct Have resulted in 
doubt as to religious verities, it should be remembered that 
deeper down than these perverse habits lie the old vital needs 
which, when they can find voice, speak always in favour of 
the religious interpretation of the world. To remove the 
doubt thus originated, the most effective method is to 
awaken from their somnolence these vital needs and make 
them vividly conscious, that the soul may be flooded with 
those primal and powerful feelings on the waves of which 
belief rides to rightful dominion. Criticism of the immoral 
conduct, coupled with sincere sympathy for the transgressor, 
is the appropriate means for the preacher to use. To de- 
nounce the doubt as such is more likely to strengthen than 
to dispel it. To demonstrate that the doubt is not justified 
on intellectual grounds is ineffective, because it does not 
really originate in the inconsistency of belief with the intel- 
lectual system, and therefore a merely logical reconciliation 
of the two will not remove it. If the mere disagreeable- 
ness of the religious truth is the only real cause of its being 
held in the suspense of doubt — as is the case in the kind of 
doubt we are now considering — it is only necessary, in 
order to turn the scales in its favour, to arouse a more pow- 
erful counter-feeling which springs from a lower depth of 
the personality. 

But it is a more difficult problem to deal effectively with 
the doubt which arises from a real conflict between the pos- 
tulates of the heart and the intellectual system of the doubter. 
Here denunciation is manifestly absurd. Denunciation im- 



160 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

plies moral dereliction ; and in this case the doubter is con- 
scious that moral dereliction is not the source of his doubt. 
Harsh criticism, the prophecy of future calamity, dogmatic 
assertion of every kind fall wide of the mark, and are likely 
to be interpreted as the mere rage of intellectual impotency, 
The rational aspect of the doubt must be squarely met, and 
should be met in the broadest and fairest spirit. Here 
especially personal sympathy and kindliness are of the ut- 
most importance; but genuine intellectual sympathy is 
needed also ; and it is not always easy for the preacher to 
have this. The psychological reason for this difficulty is 
easy to perceive. The mental processes involved in the ex- 
ercise of the ministerial function render it easier for the 
preacher to maintain an attitude of belief than for persons 
engaged in other occupations. We do not mean to attribute 
to preachers anything more than the ordinary weakness of 
human nature, when we say that the fact that it is to his 
professional and economic interest to maintain that atti- 
tude may not be without some unconscious influence upon 
him. It is only to assume that he is normally human. He 
must maintain an attitude of positive belief in order to be 
successful in the work to which he has devoted his life. 
Not only does doubt, if it becomes chronic, cripple his 
real effectiveness, but a reputation for heresy endangers the 
prospect of his securing employment by the churches. Of 
course, if the latter consideration comes to figure even semi- 
consciously in the determination of his attitude, he is dwell- 
ing next door to downright dishonesty; and a general ac- 
quaintance with preachers forbids the assumption of this as 
a consciously operating motive in the lives of any except 
a small and contemptible minority of them. On the con- 
trary, I am persuaded that in some cases the knowledge of 
the danger of being subconsciously influenced by this 
material consideration leads conscientious men to entertain 
suggestions of doubt which, perhaps, otherwise would not 
trouble them, and to search their minds with an excessive 



BELIEF l6l 

keenness of scrutiny. However, after all has been said, it 
would be an assumption of their superiority to ordinary 
human limitations to suppose that good ministers are never 
subject to the unconscious operation of this influence. 

But apart from this, the characteristic direction of the 
preacher's attention tends to keep his mind focused upon 
the religious needs of men ; these needs are more constantly 
vocal in his own consciousness and more apparent to him 
in the lives of others than is the case with men in other 
occupations. When he contemplates the intellectual prob- 
lems of religion he approaches them, therefore, with a more 
pronounced bias in favour of the reality of the objects of 
religious belief than other men usually do. The reasons 
for belief receive a relatively greater emphasis and the rea- 
sons against, a relatively weaker one than they do in most 
other minds engaged in these investigations. Other things 
being equal, therefore, the preacher's peculiar point of view 
and modes of thought render it easier for him than for most 
other men to maintain an attitude of positive belief. Other 
things, to be sure, are not always equal ; and hence it should 
not be invariably assumed, as a matter of course, that others 
are more troubled by doubts than the minister. Especially 
should we bear in mind that the minister, if he uses his 
opportunities for study as he should, will become acquainted 
with many of the intellectual difficulties pertaining to re- 
ligion which many of his hearers who are not engaged in 
intellectual pursuits never have to wrestle with, and their 
belief will, therefore, not be subjected to such severe tests 
as his. But we repeat that, other things being equal, he will 
find it easier than others to maintain a positive belief in 
the realities of religion. For this reason his intellectual 
sympathy with doubters is likely to be deficient. Openness 
of mind as to these matters is likely to decrease with the 
years; and without conscious effort, motived by the desire 
to keep in sympathy with those who are struggling with the 
intellectual problems of religion, his bark may be found at 



l62 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

last with furled sails stranded in stagnant waters which have 
been cut off by the drifting sands from the deep currents and 
strong winds of the open sea. 

If the preacher's mission is to get the truths of religion 
believed, it is essential that he should present them in such 
a way as to render them accessible to the perplexed and 
questioning minds of this age. At the same time it is equally 
important that he, while apprehending and appreciating 
the difficulties of the doubter, should hold and present his 
beliefs with the positiveness of assured conviction. The 
doubter is not assisted in the attainment of mental unity by 
discovering that the preacher has question marks paren- 
thetically inserted after all his more important statements. 
The preacher should certainly be a believer, a genuine and 
enthusiastic believer ; but an open minded believer. His 
beliefs should not be of the hot-house variety, whose life 
can be assured only by keeping them in an atmosphere arti- 
ficially warmed under a glass cover, with roots protected 
from the chilly soil; but should have the health and hardi- 
hood of the plant that thrives and grows amidst the winds 
and frosts of the open air. It is only thus that he can 
secure the confidence of the doubter; and this is a matter 
of the first importance. When the doubters have become 
convinced that he is a brave and intelligent believer who has 
not shrunk from looking squarely in the eye the most 
frowning difficulties, a believer whose crown of confidence 
is lustrous because it has been fairly won upon the battle- 
field, their hearts more readily open to him, and the firm ut- 
terance of his conviction stirs deeper depths in their souls. 
The preacher is too often insulated from his doubting 
hearers because they think that he does not understand them 
and can not sympathize with them, and they too often have 
the impression that he would have less assurance if he had 
more knowledge, and would be less dogmatic if he had more 
courage. But the preacher who can convince his hearers of 
his open-mindedness, his absolute sincerity and his intellec- 
tual courage, and yet proclaims his message with a sure 



BELIEF 163 

note of positive conviction, blended with a note of sincere 
sympathy for those who have not been able to attain to his 
assurance, will grip the mind and heart of this perplexed 
and questioning age. He will be a real defender of the 
faith, because he will be a builder of the faith. 



CHAPTER VIII 

ATTENTION 

In the development of a mind the world of experience 
gradually comes to be clearly distinguished into two parts: 
the ego and the non-ego — the me and the not-me. At first 
the self is not differentiated from the body; but with the 
progress of the intellectual life that important distinction is 
made, and the body becomes a sort of middle ground be- 
tween the self and the not-self ; while the former deepens 
into an interior psychical centre, the focus of thought and 
feeling, and the latter broadens out into an objective world. 1 
The ego becomes a point and the non-ego an indefinite exten- 
sion ; the one a unit and the other a multitude. The multi- 
tude of objects stand over against me, the subject; and life 
resolves itself into a series of adjustments which I make to 
these objects. I am one and at a given instant can perform 
but a single act, though that act may be either a simple or a 
complex movement; and either ideal or physical, or both. 
At the moment I can make the adjustment with reference 
only to one object, or a small group of objects considered 
as a unit. My adaptation to my environment must be made 
bit by bit. If the objects which compose my total environ- 
ment were all vividly and equally present to my conscious- 
ness at each instant, and I were equipped with the neces- 
sary capacity, I would be able to act with reference to all of 
them at once; it would not be necessary for me to pick out 
from among them a single one, or a small group, and for the 
instant have exclusive or primary reference to them in my 
act. But as it is, that is exactly what I have to do. My 

i See Baldwin's " Thought and Things," Vol. I, p. 250, ff. 

164 



ATTENTION 165 

consciousness must focalize upon a limited section of my 
environment at every moment and guide my action with 
reference to that. 1 

This limitation of my consciousness would be very unfor- 
tunate if it were necessary or even important for me to act 
with reference to all the objects in my environment at once. 
But this is never the case. Usually it is only one or a 
small group of objects to which at a given instant it is 
necessary for me to adjust myself; the rest for the time 
being can be disregarded. Sometimes, indeed, one is placed j 
in a situation which at the very same instant requires ad- 
justment to a number of objects greater than his capacity 
to hold together in consciousness. If the adjustments re- 
quired by such a situation are of a vitally important charac- 
ter, there is grave danger of injury; and if there is no peril 
involved, there is danger of committing an embarrassing 
blunder. If, for instance, one is crossing a public square 
which is thronged with swift vehicles moving in all direc- 
tions, he is in peril because he needs to adjust himself at 
the same instant to a greater number of objects than he can 
hold in clear consciousness at once. If he is accosted by a 
number of persons at the same moment he is confused and 
embarrassed for the same reason. In such situations we 
are helped by two powers of the mind. First, consciousness 
can focus upon one after another of the objects with great 
rapidity. Second, if the required adjustment is one which 
we have often made, it will be made automatically, placing 
little if any tax upon consciousness. Usually with the aid 
of these facilitating capacities of the mind we can succeed 
in adjusting ourselves to such situations with sufficient 
promptness and accuracy to avoid destruction and attain to 
a considerable measure of satisfaction. 

In the foregoing statement we have the main outlines of 
the doctrine of the attention, which will now be discussed 
in detail. 

I. Its nature. Attention is focalized consciousness. 

1 See Arnold's " Attention and Interest," p. 94. 



l66 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

Consciousness is always to some extent focalized. Its form 
is a bright point surrounded by an indefinite, fading border, 
which James has called the " fringe." It is a matter of no 
importance whether, as most writers state it, the normal 
form of consciousness be conceived as that of a clear centre 
surrounded by a border which gradually shades off to un- 
consciousness ; or, according to others, as a stream which 
runs " at two different levels, the higher that of the clear, 
the lower that of the obscure." x In both cases we are using 
figures of speech which are not to be taken too literally. 
Both of them are useful figures and help us to understand 
the nature of the attention. The more intense conscious- 
ness is, the more pronounced is this form ; as consciousness 
becomes less and less intense the form becomes less pro- 
nounced, until consciousness and its form disappear together. 
To attend to an object is to direct the focus of conscious- 
ness upon it, and close attention is intense focalization. In- 
attention is usually the direction of the focus toward some 
object other than that to which it should at the time be 
directed. Absolute inattention is simply the disappearance 
of consciousness. Lax or careless attention is low intensity, 
accompanied by diversion to other objects. 

II. Its function. Attention is the selective action of con- 
sciousness — the picking out of a small section of the en- 
vironment from among the multitude of things that encom- 
pass us and considering that, while all else either stands in 
the twilight border, or is enveloped in the total darkness 
which surrounds the illuminated area of consciousness. All 
our senses are, during our waking hours, so many open 
avenues along which innumerable impressions are reaching 
us all the time. Sights, sounds, contacts, smells, tastes, 
variations in temperature are making their appeals to us from 
without, while from within numerous organic sensations 
are continually knocking at the door of consciousness. As 
a matter of fact few of these stimuli, either from without 
or from within, get recognition. Most of them never get 

iTichenor, "A Text-book of Psychology," p. 277. 



ATTENTION 1 67 

over the threshold of consciousness. Most of those which 
succeed in getting beyond the threshold are never ushered 
into the central office where the chief business of life is being 
transacted. Here in the focal point of consciousness the 
main process of adaptation is going on. Those sensations, 
or stimuli, gain admittance there which are directly involved 
in the effort we are making to get into more satisfactory 
relations with the environment. What sort of credentials 
must they present to gain admittance there? 

First, they may appear to be significantly connected with 
some interest which we are at the time pursuing. In pro- 
portion as the interest with which they are connected is cen- 
tral in our purpose will their claim to recognition be 
strengthened, and also in proportion to what we conceive 
the importance of their relation to it to be. If you are 
absorbed in the effort to conclude a trade with a man, the 
colour of his hair will not be likely to fix your attention, 
unless it should be taken by you as an indication of his tem- 
perament and thus become related to the dominant interest 
of the moment. On the other hand, if you had made a 
wager with some one that you would meet a certain num- 
ber of red-haired men as you walked down the street, the 
colour of the hair of each man you met would attract your 
attention. If a geologist and a botanist should walk through 
a certain district for the purpose of studying, one its 
geological formation and the other its flora, their attention 
would be attracted by entirely different objects. If the 
geologist were interested in a secondary way in botany also, 
the weeds and flowers, trees and shrubs would receive an 
incidental share of his attention; but his interest would be 
chiefly engaged by rocks and earth-deposits. A detective 
who is working up the solution of a problematical crime will 
be attracted by certain details which would escape the notice 
of the average person, because they seem to his expert eye to 
be significantly related to the problem he is trying to solve. 
To sum up, attention always moves along the line of in- 
terest. 



l68 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

Second, those objects draw attention to themselves which 
are out of the ordinary, and do so in proportion to their 
rarity or strangeness. To say that we are accustomed to 
anything is to say in other words that we are adapted to it ; 
and as attention is the adaptive function of consciousness it 
must concern itself with that which is not customary. And, 
since attention is consciousness engaged in the process of 
guiding adjustment, each successive act of adjustment, after 
the adaptation has been effected, falls under the law of habit 
and takes place with less attention, or even while it is di- 
rected elsewhere. The young lady sits at the piano and 
draws the harmony from its keys, but her attention is most 
likely directed upon the young man who stands by her side 
and turns the pages of the music ; the keys and notes occupy 
the obscure margin of consciousness. The greater number 
of the adjustments we are actually making throughout our 
waking life never get beyond the dim borders of our con- 
sciousness. It is the unusual adjustments which occupy the 
foreground of the mental picture. But as in a picture, there 
is no sharp demarcation between the foreground and the 
background. The successive acts of adjustments, of which 
the substance of life consists, lie all the way between 
the extremes of the unconscious and habitual and the abso- 
lutely new, upon which the surprised consciousness is most 
intensely focused. The reign of habit is continually ex- 
tending over the realm of our experience, and with it the 
shadow of the unconscious with its broad fringe of twilight. 
And the darkness would ultimately settle upon it all if the 
realm of experience were not extending also. It is the en- 
trance of the new into our lives which keeps consciousness 
alert, the attention active and the intelligence growing. In 
people who live under monotonous conditions or in a 
comparatively unchanging environment, consciousness is at 
a low tension; in people who live in a changeful environ- 
ment, it is at a high tension. The attention is more active 
because it is continually challenged by new experiences. 
Consciousness focalizes upon the unusual, for the obvious 



ATTENTION 1 69 

reason that there is where it is needed in the guidance of 
adjustment. 

This is only another statement of the principle that in- 
terest controls attention. The fundamental and all-inclu- 
sive interest of life is adjustment, and hence the intrusion 
of a new object or situation into our experience, even though 
it may not connect itself with the specific purpose which is 
at the moment controlling conduct, will attract attention 
because it directly appeals to an interest which includes all 
others. Yet the specific and momentarily dominant pur- 
pose may have so completely absorbed the consciousness 
that a new situation not connected with it would have to 
be of the most striking or pressing character to displace it 
from the focus, — for instance, the case of the philosopher 
who was so deeply immersed in his speculation that his foot 
was thrust too near the fire and the sole of his shoe burnt 
off before he became aware of it. Concentration upon any 
act or process of adjustment is well, but there is a limit 
beyond which it may be injurious ; for life is the realization 
of interests through continuous adaptations, and our in- 
terests are numerous and varied. There is a possibility, 
if we suffer attention to be too thoroughly monopolized by 
one interest, of sacrificing others of equal or greater im- 
portance. 

Third, from the foregoing it is apparent that attention is 
closely related to volition. Angell remarks that " volition 
as a strictly mental affair is neither more nor less than a 
matter of attention. When we can keep our attention 
firmly fixed upon a line of conduct to the exclusion of all 
competitors, our decision is already made ! " x When 
there is hesitation and difficulty in reaching a decision, 
it results from the fact that two or more incompatible lines 
of conduct are present in consciousness, which focalizes now 
upon one and now upon another. When focused upon one 
there is an impulse to act in that direction; then as the 
attention is drawn to the other a motor impulse to act along 

1 " Psychology," p. 345. 



I70 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

that line accompanies it. The direction of the attention on 
first one and then another of several alternatives is the 
essential thing in the process of deliberation which precedes 
choice. If the attention can be kept on one to the exclusion 
of others, the action will take place along that line. The 
fixing and holding of the attention upon one as opposed to 
the others is the act of choice, is decision, is all that there 
is of volition, except the release of the impulse through the 
motor channels of expression. But this leads naturally 
to the consideration of the different kinds of attention. 

III. There are three kinds of attention; or more prop- 
erly speaking, one's interest may determine the direction of 
his attention in three different ways. It is not strictly cor- 
rect to speak of different kinds or forms of attention, for 
attention is always simply focalized consciousness. But 
that focalization takes place under different conditions, and 
these differences really constitute the basis of the classifica- 
tion now to be made. 

I. Compulsory attention. This is the attention which is 
directed upon a stimulus that forces itself into the focus of 
consciousness. It may be because it is so powerful or so 
persistent or so startling, or has some other quality which 
enables it to interrupt the mental processes that are going 
on. A loud noise, a keen or gnawing pain, a great surprise, 
an unexpected good fortune — whatever it may be that 
breaks in upon the current of one's thoughts and forces 
them in another direction, or powerfully reinforces the 
mental processes along the line in which they are moving — 
produces compulsory attention. Interruption, however, is 
the usual characteristic of this kind of attention. These in- 
terrupting experiences which we can not neglect occur fre- 
quently during our waking hours and sometimes crash 
through the brittle shell of slumber within which the brain 
retreats from the stimulations that overtax it. They can 
compel attention because they appeal so strongly to the 
fundamental interest of life. The survival interest of the 
organism requires that such sudden or unusual changes in 



ATTENTION 171 

the environment should not go unheeded. If the nervous 
system be in a state of excessive irritability many stimuli 
which have in them no menace or other important sig- 
nificance for the normal constitution and might safely be 
neglected under ordinary circumstances force themselves 
nevertheless upon the consciousness of the person so af- 
fected. But the abnormal nervous condition gives them 
special significance for those persons. Sometimes people 
have abnormal sensitiveness to certain kinds of stimuli. One 
may be so fastidious that the slightest lack of tidiness in an- 
other may disconcert him ; or a certain tone of the voice may 
be extremely painful, even the very timbre of the voice may 
be irritating ; or a certain gesture or attitude may be so un- 
pleasant as to divert the mind from the ideas of a speaker. 

It not unfrequently happens that the attention which a 
public speaker " commands " is of the compulsory type. It 
may be that it is not what he says, but his manner that 
compels attention. The peculiarity may be pleasant or un- 
pleasant. A marvellously musical voice may bewitch the 
ears of the auditors; a raucous or grating or squeaking 
voice, an unusual intonation, or some other striking charac- 
teristic — attractive or repellent — may irresistibly arrest at- 
tention until through familiarity it loses its compelling 
power. If it is not positively pleasing, it is a misfortune, 
and stands in the way of achieving the best results, because 
it invests the ideas the speaker is presenting with disagree- 
able feelings, and draws the attention of the hearers upon it- 
self and therefore away from what he is saying. Even if 
not unpleasant, such a striking mode of presentation, when 
very pronounced, may, though winning applause for the 
orator, divert attention from the subject matter of his dis- 
course; whereas his subject, his cause, the speaker and 
especially the preacher, should strive always to keep in the 
focus of his hearers' consciousness. In a word, compulsory 
attention, even when elicited by some pleasing peculiarity or 
device of the orator, is really centred upon the orator him- 
self, or his method, and not upon his message. But more 



\*J2 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

often compulsory attention is unpleasant. Frequently the 
stimulus itself is an unpleasant one, and even when it is not, 
it usually interrupts the current of consciousness ; and this of 
itself is disagreeable, though if the object or situation which 
obtrudes itself is agreeable, the resulting pleasure may im- 
mediately swallow up the momentarily unpleasant sensation. 
But to this disagreeable sensation is added the irritation of a 
stimulus which is offensive. As a rule the experience is 
annoying or painful. 

As an example of a bold oratorical device for securing 
compulsory attention, the story — how authentic I do not 
know — is told of Henry Ward Beecher, that as he arose 
to preach one warm day, he wiped the perspiration from 
his brow and exclaimed, " It is damned hot ! " After a 
pause, he explained to the shocked congregation, " That is 
what I heard a man say awhile ago as I was entering the 
house," and proceeded to preach a strong sermon against 
the use of profane language. Of course, it was effective in 
compelling attention. It startled everybody, though to 
the sensation lovers, of whom there were perhaps not a few 
present, it was doubtless a pleasant shock. But while it 
compelled attention and made the occasion memorable, may 
it not in fact have diverted attention from the moral and 
spiritual import of his message? It is possible that 
throughout the discourse and subsequently when the occa- 
sion was recalled the attention of those who heard was 
focused more upon that startling introduction than upon 
the wholesome lesson which his sermon inculcated. It is 
certainly far from the purpose of this discussion to insist 
upon tameness as a duty of the pulpit. Alas! there seems 
to be no occasion for that. The purpose is to show that 
often the devices used to compel attention are most likely 
to divert it from the subject matter of the discourse. Per- 
haps the line between the legitimate and the illegitimate in 
sensation should be drawn just here: " sensationalism " is 
objectionable because it ordinarily means the use of devices 
for compelling attention in such a way that the interest is 



ATTENTION 173 

centred upon the speaker himself, or his methods, rather 
than upon his message. 

2. Voluntary attention, in which the concentration of the 
mind takes place under the control of the will. It is a 
matter of choice, and is based upon some measure of delib- 
eration, or weighing of alternatives. It implies a tendency 
to attend to something else. This divergent tendency has 
to be overcome, which involves strain. Voluntary atten- 
tion presupposes a considerable degree of mental organ- 
ization, the existence of a plan and purpose and the cen- 
tralized control of one's energies in the realization of the 
purpose. Angell says : " When we say that in voluntary 
attention we force ourselves to attend to some particular 
object or idea, what we evidently mean is that the mind in 
its entirety is brought to bear in suppressing certain dis- 
turbing objects or ideas, and in bringing to the front the 
chosen ones. The act of voluntary attention is, in short, an 
expression of the sovereignty of the whole mind over its 
lesser parts, i.e., over the disturbing or alluring ideas and 
sensations/' 1 It is not quite correct to say that " the mind 
in its entirety is brought to bear in suppressing certain dis- 
turbing objects or ideas." This real situation is that there 
are two mental tendencies opposing one another, and the 
characteristic note of the process is the effort to attain men- 
tal unity, to bring " the mind in its entirety " to act along a 
certain line, or to focalize upon one object to the exclusion 
of others. There is a recurrent swinging of the attention 
away from one object of interest to another and a repeated 
pulling of it back. This is wearisome and disagreeable. 
There is not only much unpleasantness but much waste of 
energy in the exercise of voluntary attention. As the men- 
tal energy diminishes by reason of the strain, the unpleas- 
antness of the process increases ; there is a decrease of power 
to direct the mind to the chosen object, or more properly 
speaking, to keep the choice fixed upon a certain object ; and 
after awhile the point is reached where voluntary attention 

1 " Psychology," pp. 72-73. 



174 • PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

to that object becomes impossible until after a period of 
rest. 

Now, the unpleasantness which accompanies this process 
of straining has a tendency to make the object which occa- 
sions it repulsive. The facts or ideas which have to be 
learned or acquired in this disagreeable way are not likely 
to be appreciated — certainly not at the time ; and the danger 
is that they may become permanently associated with the 
disagreeable feeling incidental to the strained effort to 
attend to them. So truths of great value may be forever 
discounted in the mind of one who has become acquainted 
with them in this unfortunate way. One can hardly doubt 
that the truths of religion have thus often greatly suffered. 

But one may well ask, how, if all truth is to be com- 
municated in such a way as to avoid this effort, is the will 
to be educated? If truth must regularly be presented so as 
to make the minimum draft upon the voluntary attention, 
how will one acquire the power of voluntary direction of 
his mind, which is so necessary to fit him to cope success- 
fully with the actual conditions of life? Surely in the actual 
conduct of one's life, in the adjustment of oneself to an 
ever-changing environment which takes very little account 
of personal inclinations, it is extremely important that he 
should acquire the self-mastery which can come alone from 
the oft-repeated and prolonged exercise of the voluntary at- 
tention. 

It is evident that much depends upon what the purpose is 
in presenting truth. If the purpose is exclusively or mainly 
disciplinary, i.e., if the aim is to develop a useful mental 
habit, one method will be appropriate. If, on the other 
hand, the aim is to get certain truths accepted most readily, 
believed most heartily, appreciated most highly and acted 
on most promptly, another method will be suitable. In 
preaching and in all forms of persuasive oratory the latter 
purpose is controlling. We do not preach for the purpose 
of giving the hearers a needed exercise in the control of 
the attention; preaching is not adapted to that purpose. 






ATTENTION 175 

The hearer is at liberty to attend or not ; and while a sense 
of duty may constrain some conscientious auditors to at- 
tend to the truth uninterestingly presented, their number is 
not large, and the great majority will most certainly exercise 
their privilege not to listen. 

The preacher or other public speaker, therefore, should 
make as small a demand as possible on the voluntary atten- 
tion of his hearers. If he finds them inattentive it is gen- 
erally useless, and often suicidal, to scold or lecture them 
for their failure to listen. If they listen to him " from a 
sense of duty," they will give him at best only a divided 
attention; and the disagreeable feeling attendant upon the 
strain not only reacts against him personally but gives a 
repellent cast to the truth he wishes them heartily to 
receive. Of course it would be a serious mistake to present 
the truths of religion in such a way as to make people 
believe that the religious life is " a primrose path," an easy 
way, which involves no toil and sacrifice and pain. Deep 
and serious truth, stern duty, arduous struggle for high and 
difficult ideals may be urged upon the conscience in such a 
way as to associate them with agreeable feelings and invest 
them with an ethical charm which creates enthusiasm for 
them in the human heart. But it certainly does not con- 
tribute to that result to have to listen to their presentation 
from a sheer sense of duty. To contemplate a great truth 
or a high duty through the medium of unpleasant feelings 
aroused by the necessity of giving strained attention to a 
dull speaker is to strip the truth and duty of the charm 
which they naturally have for the normal human mind, and 
with which, at any rate, they ought to be invested whenever 
possible. 

3. Spontaneous attention. This form of attention may 
be negatively described as a concentration of consciousness 
which is not forced by an external stimulus and at the same 
time is without internal strain. The object of such atten- 
tion is not thrust into the focus by any strong or sudden 
appeal from without, nor brought and held there by an effort 



176 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

from within. Positively it may be described as a concen- 
tration of consciousness under the control of some inclina- 
tion which for the time dominates the mind without any 
serious competition. We often give attention to an object 
at a certain time because it is itself so interesting that it 
absorbs the mind. In compulsory attention we attend to an 
object not because it is interesting to us, not because it 
appeals to a present dominant inclination in us, but because 
our organism instinctively takes note of every stimulus 
which by reason of its sudden, violent, strange or strik- 
ing character may bear an important relation to its welfare ; 
because it may menace some organic interest. The response 
is reflexive or instinctive. In voluntary or strained attention 
there is a competition between objects that appeal to differ- 
ent inclinations, or between an intrinsically interesting object 
and some stimulus that seeks to force itself upon our con- 
sciousness. But in spontaneous attention the mind is dwell- 
ing on something which is in itself interesting, and so in- 
teresting that at the moment it takes practically complete 
possession of our thoughts. Under such circumstances the 
mind drifts. The attention may move from one object to 
another quite suddenly and rapidly; but the drifting and 
shifting take place under the control of some interest which, 
having its origin in some situation or other, rises to the sur- 
face and for the moment directs the current of thought. 
The process is well exemplified in our reveries and day- 
dreams. What we think about when we " turn our minds 
loose " and nothing disturbs us, are objects of spontaneous 
attention. 

Now these inclinations (or interests) which select the 
objects of spontaneous attention represent the constitution 
of the mind as at the time organized. The mental organ- 
ization is revealed also, and sometimes more adequately 
revealed, in voluntary attention; but this rather represents 
the mind in the process of further organization, while spon- 
taneous attention simply shows the mind off guard, in 



ATTENTION 177 

relaxation, and is one of the surest indications of the present 
status of the character. 

It is obvious that the orator should, if possible, secure for 
his message the spontaneous attention of his hearers. His 
message may, to be sure, be opposed to some very pro- 
nounced inclinations of theirs, and this is very frequently 
the case with the preacher. When this is so he has a serious 
difficulty to overcome. His objective may, indeed, be to 
effect a profound change in their inclinations. This sets the 
supreme problem for the orator, and it calls for a skill in the 
application of psychological principles which amounts to a 
high art. How shall he secure the spontaneous attention 
of his hearers, which requires him to present his message so 
as to appeal to some inclination of theirs, when the message 
itself opposes some of their strong inclinations? The only 
way is to stimulate some inclination not opposed to the mes- 
sage so effectively that it will overflow their consciousness 
with the corresponding feelings and submerge the opposing 
inclinations. This is the noblest function of the great art 
of illustration ; and of almost if not quite equal value is the 
dramatic art. By the skilful use of these arts the message 
may be clothed in forms which enable it to hold the spon- 
taneous attention, even if otherwise it would be uninterest- 
ing or positively repellent. The remarkable cultivation and 
effective use in recent years of the art of story-telling for 
the moral and religious instruction of the young is a most 
striking testimony to the soundness of this homiletical prin- 
ciple — secure the spontaneous attention of the hearer. 

IV. Its scope. Many experiments have been conducted 
to determine how many objects can be attended to at the 
same time, and apparently very different conclusions have 
been reached by different psychologists. Some of them 
maintain that but one single object can stand in the focus at 
a given instant; others that as many as six objects can be 
attended to at once. 1 But there is some lack of clearness in 

1 See Tichenor's " Text-book of Psychology," pp. 287 ff. 



178 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the discussions of those who take the latter position. They 
seem to confound the attention with the span of conscious- 
ness. The span of consciousness may, and perhaps always 
does, cover several objects, but this includes not only the 
clear focus but the less clear background as well. When 
the experimental evidence is closely studied it seems to es- 
tablish the contention that we can focus consciousness on 
only a single object at any absolutely single point of time. 
That object may, however, be complex, i.e., may consist of 
several objects grasped as a unity; but in that case the 
separate constituents of the unity do not stand singly in the 
clear focus, nor any one of them, but the entire group as a 
group. This by subsequent acts of attention may be broken 
up into its elements, and its parts or phases attended to one 
after another. 

V. Its constant shifting. The narrow scope of the atten- 
tion would be exceedingly unfortunate were it not compen- 
sated for by the rapid and constant flitting of attention from 
one thing to another. If we should compare the attention to 
a search-light turned upon objects, then we should think of 
it as darting its searching beam rapidly now this way and 
now that. No one can have failed to notice this character- 
istic of his mental life. The attention can hardly be pinned 
down to a single point. If it is, consciousness begins to drop 
toward drowsy extinction, or the mind falls into a sort of 
hypnotic trance. The very life of normal consciousness 
consists in this constant moving from one object to another. 
We do not have any certain knowledge of the cause of this 
exceeding restlessness of the mind. Is it due to the speedy 
exhaustion of the delicate brain cells employed in any act 
of attention? That is conceivable; but we simply do not 
know. Certainly it will appear to be a most fortunate 
characteristic of our minds, if we consider a few facts in 
their relation to one another. 

First, is the fact that we live in a very complex, many- 
sided environment. We have to bring ourselves into ad- 
justment to a great multitude of things. Second, these 



ATTENTION 179 

many things are constantly changing their positions or atti- 
tudes relative to ourselves; or, on the other hand, we are, 
because of our limitations and our numerous needs, driven 
to constant changes of our positions and attitudes with re- 
spect to them. Third, as we have already said, our con- 
sciousness is able to bring itself into definite and clear rela- 
tion with but one, or at most a few, of those objects at any 
moment. Under such conditions a consciousness which re- 
fuses to remain fixed upon any one point but persistently 
moves on from one to another manifestly has a decided 
" survival value." To be sure, its shifting is not at random, 
though it may often appear so. Its movements are not un- 
related or chaotic. From the very first, organic interest ex- 
ercises a general directing influence; more or less definite 
laws of association play their part in regulating the move- 
ments; and with the growth of experience and the higher 
organization of the mind the self-conscious will gains an 
increasing domination over this activity. But the movement 
is incessant, except in sleep — if indeed it wholly ceases 
then ; and by virtue of it we are able to carry ourselves with 
some measure of safety and success amidst the multitu- 
dinous objects of a very changeful environment. 

What this characteristic of the attention means for the 
public speaker is obvious. The attention of his hearers will 
move on. He should not dwell upon a single point longer 
than is necessary for them to grasp it. If he does, one of 
two things will happen. Either they will become drowsy or 
their minds will flit away to other things, which most prob- 
ably will be wholly unrelated to his discourse. In any case 
he will lose their attention, and any method he may adopt 
to compel them to listen will be unavailing. Speaking of 
this aspect of our mental activity Angell says : " So far as 
attention is really an activity of the relating or adjusting 
kind its work is done when the relation between the mind 
and the thing attended to is once established. This is the 
mental, as distinguished from the physiological, part of the 
adjustment, and attention must go elsewhere, because it is 



180 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

intrinsically the adjusting act itself." * This means that the 
discourse must have movement ; and different phases of the 
subject must be presented with a rapidity corresponding 
to the rapidity of this normal mental movement. How im- 
perative this is in speaking to children, a very little expe- 
rience will show. But in fact it is just as imperative in 
addressing adults of any grade of maturity and culture. 
Adults, especially persons of culture, can grasp more com- 
plex ideas, and their attention can therefore be held longer 
within a given field; but all the time it will be moving from 
one to another aspect of this group of related objects or 
ideas. The shifting of the attention of the mature is just 
as incessant and rapid as that of the immature mind. It 
does not appear to be so, first, because the mature mind 
will dwell longer within a given field; but it does so only 
because it finds in that field a greater number of points of 
interest upon which to fix the attention. Second, it does not 
appear to drift so rapidly as the mind of the child, because, 
having better voluntary control of the motor nerves and 
more respect for the conventionalities, the older person will 
not be so " fidgety " and will more thoroughly mask his in- 
attention; but his mind will be leaping away from the dis- 
course which does not move on to fresh phases of the sub- 
ject, as wantonly as that of the child. People are not always 
giving attention when they sit with their eyes directed to- 
wards the speaker. The mature mind leaps from one thing 
to another as rapidly as the immature, but it does not leap 
so far, perhaps, and its superior control of the muscles may 
better conceal what is going on. "Move on" is the order 
which Psychology gives to the speaker. 

If he is rapid and skillful enough in his progress, he may 
control the mental movement of his audience; otherwise that 
movement will go on under the control of inclinations, in- 
terests, associations which may be quite foreign to his pur- 
pose. But if there is danger of going too slowly it is also 
possible to move too rapidly for the best results, and this is 

1 " Psychology," p. 79 



ATTENTION l8l 

especially true when the ideas presented are complex. A 
certain time is necessary for the attention to seize adequately 
the object or idea. When the relation is once established 
between the attending mind and the object, another should 
be immediately presented in order to prevent wandering to 
something irrelevant; but sometimes an exceedingly rapid 
speaker will present his ideas in such quick succession that 
the average hearer will be unable adequately to seize them, 
or " take them in." The result is a confused impression. 
Of course, the time required varies with the constitution of 
different minds — some normally acting more slowly than 
others; varies also according to age — the adult usually 
taking less time than the child, if the idea is at all complex ; 
varies, too, according to the degree of culture or mental dis- 
cipline — the trained mind acting more quickly than the 
untrained ; varies further according to mental freshness — 
fatigue lengthening the time necessary. But notwithstand- 
ing the many varying factors present in any situation, it is 
a safe rule that phenomenally slow as well as phenomenally 
rapid presentation should be avoided. 

VI. Its intensity or degree. The concentration of con- 
sciousness varies in intensity, and tends to vary according 
to regular rhythms. Attention fluctuates, is wave-like. It 
is difficult to determine even approximately the normal 
length of these waves. Experimental psychologists have 
not been able to make much progress in reducing this aspect 
of attention to definite formulation. It is settled, however, 
that in visual impressions which are just strong enough to 
be perceived there is a fluctuation of a few seconds in length, 
which very closely corresponds to a certain rhythm of the 
breathing and the pulse-beat, known as the Traube-Hering 
wave. Experience teaches also that there are longer waves. 
They might be called minute waves and hour waves, were 
it not that the use of these terms would convey the impres- 
sion that these periods of concentration and relaxation of 
consciousness bear some exact relation to these measures of 
time, which they do not. In fact, so many factors of 



1 82 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

variation enter in — such as individual constitution, the 
degree of mental training, mental maturity, fatigue, etc. — 
that it is impossible to make any statement about the length 
of these that is at once general and accurate. Hardly any 
two persons can be supposed to have an equal capacity to 
maintain their attention at a given level for a given time. 
Nor is the same person's capacity hardly ever the same at 
two different times or with respect to two different objects. 
All that can be said, therefore, is that there are fluctuations, 
varying in length with different persons and with the same 
person under different conditions, which usually last for 
some seconds, or some minutes ; and others longer, which 
can only be measured by hour periods. It is also well estab- 
lished not only by common experience but also by systematic 
experiment, that there is a diurnal fluctuation. x " The 
periods of the day most favourable for work are the former 
half of the morning and the latter half of the afternoon. 
The morning period again is better than the afternoon 
period.' , This conclusion may seem to be negatived by the 
fact that many persons find they can do their best work at 
night. But this is probably due to the fact that they can 
then work more free from the distractions which fill the 
hours of the day, and which are so likely to have their effect, 
no matter how one may strive to isolate himself or how 
apparently unconscious of them he may be, and not to an 
increase of the attentive power at that period of the day. 
However, allowance should always be made for individual 
peculiarities. 

The cause of these fluctuations, it can hardly be doubted, 
is fatigue. As before noted, it has been suggested that the 
rapid shifting of the attention is due to the exhaustion of 
the cells of the brain involved in attending to successive 
objects. That would imply, however, that each act of at- 
tention called into play a different group of cells from that 
engaged in the preceding act. Whether that is so or not 
cannot be determined, and need not concern us here. But 

1 Arnold, "Attention and Interest," pp. 91, 247. 



ATTENTION 1 83 

the evidence is strong that the human brain is differentiated 
into a number of areas which are specialized centres of 
various forms of mental activity ; and there is no question 
that attention involves nervous tension, nor that overtaxed 
brain cells respond to stimuli more slowly, with less ac- 
curacy and with less intensity or vigour than fresh ones. 
We have good ground to believe that when a tract of the 
brain involved in any form of mental activity becomes 
fatigued, the intensity of the activity must be lowered, or 
in case of complete exhaustion, altogether stopped, until 
recuperation takes place. But when one centre or group 
of centres becomes fatigued, a flow of energy from sur- 
rounding areas sets in to restore the equilibrium. Now, 
it is very probable that variations in the intensity or clear- 
ness of the attention are only the conscious side of this 
process of exhaustion and recuperation. The shorter fluc- 
tuations correspond to the rise and fall of the supply of 
energy in the smaller areas, and the longer fluctuation to 
this process in the larger areas. 1 

Skillful public speaking must take cognizance of these 
conditions of the mental life. It is manifest that voluntary 
attention imposes a very heavy tax upon the nervous energy ; 
spontaneous attention makes a much lighter draft. This 
is an additional reason for seeking, whenever practicable, 
attention of the latter type. But in any case, and especially 
when the speaker can only avail himself of the voluntary 
attention of the hearer, the discourse should certainly adapt 
itself to the inevitable fluctuations of this function. Speak- 
ing generally, the sentence should correspond to a single 
pulse of the attention. This is particularly true of the 
spoken sentence; for in reading a written sentence the 
reader may expend upon it two or more pulses of attention, 
but with the spoken sentence this is hardly practicable. 
Likewise we may say that the paragraph, or in spoken dis- 
course, the development of a single point or brief phase of 

1 For an interesting discussion of this whole subject, see " ^he 
Fluctuation of the Attention," by Hylan, Psychological Review 
series of Monograph Supplements, Vol. II, No. 2. 



184 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the thought, should in a general way correspond to the 
longer wave — what we have called a minute wave, though 
the phrase does not indicate that it is just a minute in 
length. And so the discourse should in a general way 
answer to what we have called, for want of a better designa- 
tion, the hour wave, though it should not be forgotten that 
the phrase does not mean that it should be exactly an hour 
long, but simply that it can be measured only in terms of 
the hour. But should the discourse occupy the whole 
length of this wave? If it does, it will end with the down- 
ward dip of the wave, and the address which concludes with 
the attention of the hearers relaxed will be to a large extent 
ineffective. If the discourse must be a lengthy one, and 
especially when delivered to a popular audience, it should 
be broken somewhere near the middle by something divert- 
ing and relaxing. If the audience is composed of persons 
who have formed the habit of giving long-continued close 
attention to the subject matter of the discourse or matters 
related thereto, one may reasonably calculate upon holding 
their sustained attention to the end; but not otherwise. In 
preaching and all forms of popular discourse, an address of 
such length, unless broken in half by a few moments of 
diversion and relaxation, will inevitably produce weariness, 
and probably disgust. It is not an accident that for serious 
discourses such as sermons to popular audiences a conven- 
tional limit of about thirty minutes has been set. It is de- 
manded by the laws of the attention. A discourse of this 
character should occupy only the upward swell of the longer 
attention wave. Nor is it an accident that popular lec- 
tures, which are usually at least an hour long, are required 
to be interspersed with diverting passages, even when their 
aim is instruction. If they are intended to be simply enter- 
taining, i.e., if they appeal chiefly or exclusively to the emo- 
tions of the audience, they should consist not entirely of 
humour or pathos, but of alternations of the two; for the 
normal human mind soon tires of humour or pathos alone, 



ATTENTION 1 85 

and the attention becomes lax unless relieved by a swing in 
the opposite direction. 

The laws of the attention set limits and standards for 
public discourse which the speaker ignores at the peril of 
failure. 



CHAPTER IX 

VOLUNTARY ACTION 

What do we mean by voluntary action? To say that it 
is action directed or controlled by the will is no answer ; for 
the question only recurs in a different form — what is the 
will? Voluntary action may be defined, somewhat tech- 
nically, as the intelligent reaction of the organism to stimuli 
— a definition which, while it involves all the essential 
elements of the voluntary process, requires much explana- 
tion. 

Two fundamentally important truths about life need 
to be clearly conceived in order to secure a satisfactory idea 
of the function of will. 

i. The first is the responsiveness of the living being to its 
surroundings. The organism is continually played upon by 
numerous influences and answers by responses from within. 
All action is reaction. One does not act in vacuo, but 
always with respect to some situation. From the simple 
reflexes up to the most complicated series of intelligent 
actions, activity always has reference to some factor or 
factors of the environment. The life-process in one of its 
most important aspects consists of a series of reactions to 
stimuli. The process seems to follow a certain rhythm, 
periods of comparative quiescence and activity following 
one another with a general regularity; but response to en- 
vironing conditions never wholly ceases in a living being. 
The man who is in a profound slumber is not absolutely out 
of touch with his surroundings, unless he is sleeping the 
sleep of death. 

Furthermore, when the organism is stimulated and reacts, 

186 






VOLUNTARY ACTION 1 87 

this experience leaves a trace in it, i.e., in some way modi- 
fies it; and as a result of this modification the response to a 
subsequent stimulus, of the same or of a different kind, will 
not be quite the same as before. These traces left in the 
organism and the resulting modification of subsequent re- 
sponses may be so slight as to escape the most discriminat- 
ing observation. Indeed, in the lower ranges of life they 
are hardly observable, and the truth of the statement as 
applied to the lowest ranges may be fairly called in ques- 
tion. It is probable, however, that wherever there is life 
some slight organic modification results from experience 
but on the inferior levels it is of negligible importance so 
far as the history of the individual organism is concerned. 

The decreasing importance of these modifications in the 
lower grades of life is only one aspect of the general truth 
that responsiveness to environment increases as the scale of 
life is ascended. In fact, the relative position of an or- 
ganism in the scale of life is determined by its responsive- 
ness to environment. In the vegetable kingdom the rose- 
bush responds to climatic or seasonal changes, but the 
limits within which it may respond are very narrow. It is 
rooted to one spot, unless transplanted by human skill. In 
that fixed locality it may dress itself in green and blush 
with red blossoms under the caressing touch of Summer. 
But how much more restricted is its adaptability than that 
of the wild goose, which feels the approach of Winter from 
afar and wings its way after the retreating Summer; or of 
the animals which freely rove abroad in search of food and 
protect themselves from the cold blasts by heavy coats of 
hair or even acquire the skill to build themselves shelters 
against the storms? But animal adaptability sinks into 
insignificance as compared with the capacity of man to bring 
himself into satisfactory relations with a complex and 
changing environment. 

The modes of responsiveness which characterize these 
three grades of life — the vegetable, the animal and the 
human — are sensitivity, sensitivity plus motility, and sen- 



l88 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

sitivity plus motility plus rationality. " Sensitivity v is, 
I know, a very questionable word with which to indicate 
the mode of responsiveness which characterizes vegetable 
life, because it has acquired its meaning in application to 
animal organisms; but there is no existing word which is 
more appropriate. Its etymology is against this use of it; 
but in the absence of a suitable term I venture to stretch 
the proprieties of language so far as to use it in this appli- 
cation. By motility is meant the ability of an organism to 
move itself from place to place by the contraction of the 
muscles of some of its organs. Precisely what is meant by 
rationality will be explained a little later. It will be noted 
that each higher grade retains the mode or modes of adap- 
tability of that which is below it, while on the higher level 
these modes are far more highly developed. The plant has 
what I have called " sensitivity," for want of a better term ; 
but the animal has sensitivity more highly and variously 
developed than the plant and has motility in addition. Man 
has both sensitivity and motility far more highly and 
variously developed than the animal, notwithstanding the 
fact that in some specific senses and in some specific forms 
of locomotion he may be inferior to some animals ; and has 
in addition the wondrous capacity of rationality. Of course 
there are no absolute lines of demarcation between these 
modes ; each lower one merges into the next higher. There 
are plants, for instance, which seem to possess in some small 
measure the mode of adaptation which we call motility ; e.g,. 
the sensitive plants have contractility, which is the funda- 
mental element in motility. It is even more difficult to 
determine at what point exactly rationality is added to 
motility; and yet, broadly speaking, we know that it is a 
distinctively human characteristic, though there may be 
suggestions of its presence in the higher animals. 

If we look at this advance from the lower to the higher 
modes of adaptability from another point of view, there is 
at once evident a corresponding increase in the complexity 
of the physical organization. The organization of the plant 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 189 

is complex enough almost to baffle our efforts at analysis. 
But it is not to be compared with the intricate differentia- 
tion of functions in the animal body. The latter's elab- 
orate apparatus of bony and muscular structure, of nutri- 
tive and circulatory functions and of specialized senses, all 
interrelated in a maze of simple and compound reflex ner- 
vous circuits, forms a microcosm which excites the amaze- 
ment of every intelligent student. But one is lost in won- 
der when he penetrates beyond the physiological organ- 
ization into the biological realm and begins to consider the 
microscopical constitution and organization of the highly 
specialized cells of which these several organs are composed. 
The body of man duplicates the essential functions of the 
animal organism, while in the human brain it comes to be a 
veritable marvel of unity in complexity, wherein the reflex 
and instinctive nervous organization of the animal, suitably 
modified, is crowned with a dome of grey matter, the subtile 
intricacy and delicacy of whose organization constitutes the 
miracle of the material universe. It is a material instru- 
ment which places at the disposal of man a vast range and 
variety of possible reactions upon his environment. In 
some mysterious way it is intimately related to conscious- 
ness, using the word in its narrower and more usual mean- 
ing; and in an equally mysterious way it seems closely con- 
nected with that capacity in which man so far excels all 
lower creatures — the power to retain and revive past in- 
dividual experiences. 

This leads me to observe that corresponding to this rising 
scale of organic complexity there is a parallel psychical de- 
velopment. We are at a loss to characterize the mode of 
life of the vegetable kingdom ; but we are safe in assuming 
that, properly speaking, it is not a psychical life. There 
is nothing in the plant corresponding to consciousness in 
the ordinary sense of that word. Those who take con- 
sciousness to be a universal quality or mode of life, must, 
of course, make it co-extensive with life; and must, there- 
fore, maintain that there is a vegetable consciousness. But 



I90 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

in the sense in which the word is used throughout this book 
it is not applicable in that realm. Can the life of the lowest 
forms of animal organisms be regarded as psychical? Is 
consciousness, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, 
found in those protoplasmic beings which are not killed when 
divided, but each of whose parts persists as an independent 
being? Here we are on debatable ground; but we may 
be sure that whatever consciousness may be there, if any, 
is of an exceedingly low order — so dim, diffused and con- 
fused as hardly to merit the name. In the higher species 
of animals consciousness is unquestionably present; but 
there is every reason to believe that it is still quite vague and 
indefinite, and plays a subordinate role in their history. 
Their activities are dominated by automatisms, reflexes and 
instincts, and whatever consciousness is connected with 
these activities is not, except in a very low degree, con- 
trolling; but in the main is merely accompanying and ob- 
servant. Angell remarks that " we shall find conscious- 
ness at those points where there is incapacity on the part 
of the purely physiological mechanism to cope with the de- 
mands of the surroundings. If the reflexes and automatic 
acts were wholly competent to steer the organism through- 
out its course, there is no reason to suppose that conscious- 
ness would ever put in its appearance." 1 As the autom- 
atisms and reflexes prove inadequate to adjust the organism 
to a varied and changing environment there is developed the 
cortex of the brain, which in one of its important functions 
may be likened to a highly complicated switch-board. By 
means of this, an incoming stimulus, instead of running 
mechanically over a fixed path to predestined motor results, 
can be switched on to any one of a great number of motor 
tracks, or may be simultaneously connected with several 
systems of motor nerves commanding the activity of as 
many bodily organs. Or the stimulus may be totally in- 
hibited, in which case it is dissipated in a general and more 
or less violent agitation or tension of the entire nervous 

1 " Psychology," p. 58. 



VOLUNTARY ACTION I9I 

system. In either case the significant thing is that it is 
controlled. But how ? 

Man has the unique power of retaining his past experi- 
ences in the form of mental images and of using them rep- 
resentatively, of combining them in lengthy series of con- 
cepts and judgments, in the light of which he deals with new 
situations as they arise. This is rationality. When stimuli 
of variant and often contradictory tendencies come into his 
experience and compete with one another, these ideas in 
which his past experience is stored up are revivified and 
under their guidance he resolves the conflict — he chooses. 
This choice follows upon suspense (the arrest of the motor 
response), however brief, and deliberation (the weighing 
against one another of the relevant considerations arising 
from past experience) ; and it precedes the liberation of the 
impulse along a certain motor path. It is the end of the 
deliberating process, which is intellectual, and the beginning 
of the acting process, which is motor — the point at which 
the one process passes into the other. Some impulses are 
inhibited and others are given the right of way; or some 
compromise is effected and the antagonistic impulses are 
unitedly turned in a direction different from that in which 
either was tending. The action is directed, controlled by 
the mental life as organized in individual experience, i. e., 
by the personality ; and exactly herein lies the unique, char- 
acteristic quality of voluntary action. A reflex action is 
not voluntary. I do not will to withdraw my hand when 
it comes in contact with a coal of fire, though I may will not 
to withdraw it. A purely instinctive action is not volun- 
tary : a man does not will to flee from a lion which is charg- 
ing upon him, nor are the successive co-ordinations of his 
muscles in the process of flight acts of will. Voluntary 
action is that in which the reflexive and instinctive activities 
are in some measure brought under the deliberate control of 
intelligence. 

The relation of will to a series of reflexive or instinctive 
actions may be simply that of initiation. We may volun- 



192 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tarily start a foreseen train of such actions and then it is 
fair to call the whole series voluntary. When a base-ball 
player runs a base there may be but one act of volition, a 
setting off a whole train of reflexive-instinctive muscular 
contractions, but we rightly call the whole complex act of 
running the base voluntary. Habitual actions may likewise 
be voluntary, in that they may represent original choices 
in the formation of the habit ; and after the habit has become 
fixed a train of habitual acts may be voluntarily initiated, 
" touched off," as it were, by a single volition, as when a 
pianist begins to play a piece of familiar music. But always 
and everywhere, if the action is truly voluntary, it must be, 
either mediately or immediately, the result of choice and 
under the direction of intelligence, the organized indn 
vidual experience, the personality. 

II. A second fundamental fact of life must be consid- 
ered if we would properly appreciate the significance of the 
function of will. To Bergson chiefly we owe the keen 
realization of the forth-reaching, onward-moving character 
of life. Duration or time is its element, change is its 
process. It is essentially transitive and dynamic, the very 
antithesis of the static. At each instant it tends to pass, 
and is passing, from one state into another. This charac- 
teristic becomes more pronounced as the level of life rises. 
It is more obvious in the animal than in the vegetable ; more 
manifest in man than in the beast. Increase the volume of 
life, and its " urge," its forward tension, its projection (elan) 
seems to increase proportionately. We may question, in- 
deed, whether it does not increase in geometrical rather than 
in arithmetical ratio. Perhaps its nearest analogue is the 
law of physical motion — the momentum is the mass multi- 
plied by the velocity. Life and its manifestations are not, 
of course, like material objects and movements, capable 
of mathematical formulation. But certainly with its on- 
ward movement, its transition through time, it normally 
develops in volume, and, with its fuller development, its 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 193 

dynamic forward trend, its self-projection into the future, 
increases in energy. 

What is of even greater importance is that the onward 
movement of life not only increases in energy as it attains 
to higher levels, but is more and more consciously directed 
towards ends. It is telic from the beginning in the sense 
that it is moving towards ends ; but on the lower levels the 
striving, so far as individual organisms are concerned, 
seems to be blind. The ends are not anticipated, not fore- 
casted; the goal toward which the energies are directed is 
not present in the form of an idea in consciousness. In- 
deed, as we have already pointed out, consciousness does 
not seem to exist in the sub-animal forms of life, and pos- 
sibly not in the very lowest of the animal forms; and in the 
higher of them it is certainly vague and nebulous. The 
illumination of consciousness in the sphere of the inverte- 
brates may be likened to that of a starless night, and in the 
higher beasts probably never rises above the relative inten- 
sity of starlight. In a consciousness so highly developed as 
that of a dog, " coming events may cast their shadows be- 
fore," provided they are quite near in time, but then in all 
probability only as dim apprehensions, vague fore-feelings. 
How different with man ! Probably in no respect is the nor- 
mal human consciousness more sharply differentiated from 
the indefinite psychic life of the lower creatures. Man 
looks ahead. He forms a quite definite mental picture of 
the future. He sets ends for his activity; he constructs 
ideals. True, his ideals are not always sufficiently in har- 
mony with reality to be practicable ; and when his ideals are 
practicable, his power of accomplishment often falls far 
short of their realization. His forecasts may be cruelly 
mocked by events which he could neither foresee nor con- 
trol. Disappointment which often amounts to tragedy is 
an inevitable incident of this incessant forecasting and 
planning, and the tension of anxiety often drains off into 
useless channels the energy which should be devoted to 



194 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

achievement, but the forecasting and planning will not 
cease. 

With the extension of experience and the accumulation of 
ideas in which that is treasured, with the growth of the con- 
structive imagination, which, from the psychological point 
of view, is the main line of human development, man 
projects his life more and more consciously, more and more 
definitely and with ever-increasing energy into the future, 
and strives to control its development according to definite 
plans, and with increasing success. As the future becomes 
the past, the plans undergo continual modification ; but nor- 
mally they do not contract but expand and take in further 
stretches of the future. This is true of individual expe- 
rience and also of collective life. As a man's personality 
develops he realizes more keenly that his individuality is a 
thread in the whole cloth of human destiny which is being 
woven upon the loom of the ages. He identifies himself 
more completely with the whole past, the whole present and 
the whole future of humanity and this lengthens his per- 
spective, in every direction. His consciousness becomes a 
focal point of light which penetrates the veil of darkness 
that shrouds the things that have been and illuminates with 
steadier and stronger beams the track along which he is 
moving into the things that are to be. But in the future his 
interest is more and more definitely located as his develop- 
ment proceeds, and the past and the present, in the last 
analysis, claim his attention chiefly because of their pos- 
sible bearing upon that contingent part of his destiny which 
lies ahead of him. 

Now, voluntary action is that which is directed toward a 
consciously conceived or imaged end. The forecast of the 
future is its motive. We might say that instead of being 
pushed or driven from behind, the voluntary actor is drawn 
from before ; but then we should be reminded that the idea 
of the end at which his action is aimed is a fact of present 
experience, that we cannot really experience the future, 
which by its very nature lies wholly beyond experience; 



VOLUNTARY ACTION I95 

that one is actually moving forward under the guidance of 
an idea which is a part of present experience and fashioned 
out of past experience. This is all true ; and yet the specific 
quality of this imaged end or goal of action is that it is felt 
as somehow projected forward; it is a sort of blazed path- 
way into the chaotic and formless future. It may be fash- 
ioned out of the elements of past experience, but somehow 
there has been wrought into its texture a certain quality of 
futureness, so to speak, so that in following it one cannot 
divest himself of the consciousness that he is being at- 
tracted rather than pushed forward. The head-light may 
be generated by electric currents coursing the wires which 
lie back of the engine, but its beams illuminate the track 
ahead and not behind. 

An important distinction between voluntary actions 
should here be noticed. Every act which involves choice 
between alternatives and is motived by an end is voluntary ; 
but acts which have reference to more distant and more 
general ends have the voluntary character in a higher de- 
gree than those which have reference to specific ends nearer 
at hand. A youth deliberates as to whether he will go 
swimming or attend a ball game, and decides in favour of 
the latter. His act has the voluntary character. At an- 
other time he wrestles with the question, which of two col- 
leges offering different advantages he will attend, and this 
is only a particular phase of the larger problem of his life- 
work — whether he will be a lawyer or a minister ; and he 
decides with reference to that. This act has the volitional 
quality in a higher degree. Again, he faces the still larger 
question of the general meaning of life — what character 
his life as a whole shall bear, whether it shall be devoted 
to some small private end such as the gaining of money, or 
to some large and generous purpose such as the advance- 
ment of the well-being of his fellow-men. When he has 
made up his mind as to this fundamental question he deter- 
mines the specific issues as they arise according to their 
relation to this general scheme of life. Such conduct has 



I96 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the voluntary character in a yet higher degree. In the 
three successive situations his action calls into play the 
personality in a larger and more intensive way — expresses 
larger measures of self-determination. The more remote 
and general an end, the attainment of which involves the 
use of a longer series of means and a more persistent mental 
attitude, the more distinctive and pronounced is the volun- 
tary character of the action or series of actions leading up 
to it ; because they are the expression of a personality more 
highly organized and unified, and acting as a whole. As the 
personality becomes more highly developed, organized into a 
unity around some central and dominating purpose, it moves 
upward further from the impulsive, instinct-controlled 
level of life towards the level of thoroughly rational activity. 
The instincts remain in operation ; but their activities are 
correlated within a great intelligent plan, harnessed like 
mettlesome steeds to the chosen task of life and directed by 
a masterful purpose. 

It is not the purpose of this chapter to attempt an answer 
to that question which has been mooted since man began to 
reflect upon the problem of his own life — is the will free ? 
But to pass on without a definite statement as to this matter 
would seem evasive. The trend of psychological thinking 
is toward the affirmation of a limited and conditioned free- 
dom. The activity of the present can never be wholly un- 
related to the activity of the past. In a very real sense our 
ability to act now is conditioned by what we and our ances- 
tors have done before; in fact, is conditioned by the whole 
past activity of the universe as it is registered in the cir- 
cumstances which now environ us. But this is far from 
implying that the universe, including each individual life, is 
a closed mechanical system and that every thought of the 
mind, every feeling of the heart, every choice of the will, 
finds its explanation in the law of the transformation of 
energy. We do not know, to begin with, that what is called 
mechanical energy — the real nature of which nobody un- 
derstands — is a fixed quantity. It is assumed to be and 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 197 

our limited experience seems to confirm the assumption ; but 
our experience is very limited to bear so important and uni- 
versal a generalization. But granted that it is so ; that fact 
would not be inconsistent with a real determination of the 
direction of physical energy by the mind. It is only neces- 
sary to assume — what seems to be an obvious fact of ex- 
perience — that psychical energy is distinct from physical 
energy. Recurring to what was said on a foregoing page 
as to the likeness of the cortex to a complicated switch- 
board, it is obvious that the nervous energy released by 
the stimulation of an afferent nerve may be switched on to 
any one of a multitude of efferent tracks. Now, why may 
we not suppose this to be done by a distinct psychical entity, 
called the mind, without any increase or diminution of the 
nervous energy? Whether the motor discharge takes place 
wholly through one group of muscles, or is directed partly 
upon a definite group of muscles and partly translated into 
general organic tension, or is converted wholly into emo- 
tional disturbance, it would be exactly equal to the energy 
transmitted to the cortex by the afferent nerve, the course it 
would take being determined by the choosing mind, the will. 
The brakeman who turns the switch which diverts a train of 
cars on to one of many alternate tracks neither adds to nor 
subtracts from the mechanical momentum of the train. 

But it may be contended that the act of turning the ner- 
vous energy into one motor path rather than another is 
work and involves the expenditure of energy ; and it may be 
asked, what, then, is this energy which controls and directs 
the expenditure of the physical energy, and whence comes 
it? Manifestly it must be either a form of mechanical 
energy differentiated for this function, or a wholly different 
and peculiar kind of energy. The former alternative is 
adopted by the materialist; the latter by the believer in 
spiritual realities. But the materialistic assumption is 
wholly gratuitous. Experimental Psychology has not yet 
been able to show an exact equation between the energy of 
the stimulus and that of the motor response, much less to 



I98 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

demonstrate that the whole process takes place without the 
intervention of an immaterial entity to determine the charac- 
ter of the response. So long as this is the case it is pre- 
sumptuous to ask that we discard the testimony of our 
consciousness in favour of a theory which has no apparent 
advantage as an explanation and no demonstrable basis in 
fact. 

This leads me to ask, why be so jealous of any hypothesis 
that squints in the direction of independent psychical caus- 
ation? The true answer to this goes to the heart of the 
strenuous objection now offered to the theory of freedom 
by a certain group of scientific men. Because, on the 
hypothesis of freedom, it is thought to be impossible to give 
a scientific explanation of human life. To say that the 
existence of real freedom renders a science of human nature 
impossible and to conclude, therefore, against the existence 
of freedom is manifestly to beg the whole question. In 
the first place, there can never be a science of human action 
based upon a pre-judgment of this fundamental question to 
begin with; for this is a renunciation of the scientific atti- 
tude at the start, and a science, in the true sense of the 
word, can never be built up by that method. In the second 
place, the fact of rational freedom, i.e., the existence of a 
real psychical cause which is not included in a chain of 
inevitable sequences, does not necessarily imply that its 
action will be capricious, inconsequential, incalculable. It 
is surely conceivable that the decisions of a rational mind, 
although uncaused by antecedent events, should neverthe- 
less be orderly and regular, explicable and calculable, if all 
the conditions in view of which they were rendered were 
known. Is it absurd to suppose that the actions of a mind 
that was free and therefore rationally guided would be 
rationally explicable? May there not be order without 
necessity ? 

Indeed, it is fair to ask whether necessity is not an illu- 
sion, rather than freedom. May not the attribution of 
necessity to the sequences which we observe in the material 



VOLUNTARY ACTION I99 

world be best accounted for by the limitations of the observ- 
ing mind and the imperfection of the observation? Maybe 
it is because we observe these from the outside and cannot 
observe them from within that we read mechanical neces- 
sity into them. Certainly so far as we know, every phe- 
nomenon of the world which we call material may be in 
reality a determination of a free will. Perhaps what ap- 
pears to us, looking on from without, to be a necessary 
event resulting from a mechanical cause would, if we could 
interpret the process from the inside, appear in its true 
character as a psychical determination motived by a " be- 
cause." At bottom it is a question not of regularity or 
order, on the one hand, and of irregularity and chaos, on the 
other; but of the nature of the nexus between two succes- 
sive phenomena. Why does this situation follow that 
which regularly precedes it? Mechanical necessity, says 
the materialistic determinist. And yet he can hardly make 
quite clear what he means by the phrase. An intelligible 
universe is not necessarily a universe of necessity. The 
affirmation of a universe of mechanical necessity is a 
form of pure metaphysical dogmatism which has its origin 
in devotion to physical science, coupled with shallow think- 
ing. All that is necessary to render a science of life pos- 
sible is that we should be able to correlate its phenomena 
according to some definite principle ; but that principle need 
not be mechanical necessity ; it may be free rationality. It 
is a fact of the utmost significance that in the only case in 
which it is possible for us to study the process of change 
from within, freedom is given as a primary datum of expe- 
rience ; while in the case in which we study phenomena 
wholly from without, we have an almost irresistible 
tendency to read mechanism and necessity into them. At 
one extreme of experience lie our self-conscious activities; 
at the other, the observed processes of the material world. 
Midway between are our observations of the actions of 
other persons. In the first we can hardly convince our- 
selves, except in theory, that we are not free ; in the second, 



200 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

it is even more difficult to convince ourselves that there is 
any freedom ; in the third we attribute freedom by what I 
shall venture to call instinctive inference, by reading our 
own consciousness of freedom into the similar actions of 
others, unless we assume an immediate, intuitive knowledge 
of other minds. In other words, the further removed from 
our immediate cognition the inner principle or cause of 
change is, the more it assumes the appearance of mechanical 
necessity. 

It would seem that the obvious fact just stated would 
excite suspicion of the correctness of our interpretation of 
the changes in the external world, of which we have only 
an external, mediate and remote knowledge at best; rather 
than weaken our confidence in the testimony of our con- 
sciousness as to those changes of which we have an internal 
and immediate knowledge. To read into the changes we 
observe in external objects a necessity which certainly may 
be only an appearance due to the limitation of our knowl- 
edge, and then in defiance of the persistent witness of our 
own consciousness to cast the shadow of that necessity back 
upon our subjective experiences, of which we do have first- 
hand knowledge, is a procedure which cannot be justified in 
reason. We simply cannot divest ourselves of the con- 
sciousness that when we choose one of two or more alterna- 
tives we are free and might have chosen otherwise. It is 
easy, of course, to say that this consciousness is an illusion 
due to the fact that we are ignorant of all the nervous 
processes involved ; but it is far from convincing. The fact 
is that our ignorance of mechanical process and of the 
nature of that which we call mechanical energy is very much 
greater, and our notion of it is much more likely to be mis- 
taken. The science of natural processes, instead of present- 
ing facts which authorize this discrediting of common sense, 
points clearly towards the confirmation of its testimony; 
and philosophy throws the weight of its most serious consid- 
erations in the same side of the scale. We are justified in 
affirming confidently that the ethical life has a real founda- 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 201 

tion in the freedom of the human personality and that our 
freedom may be both intensively and extensively developed 
to greater potentiality. 

It is important for those who seek to persuade men to 
action to acquire as definite a conception as possible of the 
relation of emotion to voluntary action. If we recall the 
conditions which cover the origin and intensity of feeling, 
we shall realize that it must play an important role in the 
voluntary process. The old view was that feeling gave rise 
to action, was the spring which set off the voluntary process. 
Certain psychologists have now reacted to an almost dia- 
metrically opposite view of their relation. According to 
these writers the conative tendency, i.e., the tendency to 
action, is original and primary; feeling is a resultant and 
has really no important function in the origination or con- 
trol of action. It is simply the tone of the organic experi- 
ence, an accompaniment, and, while it is important in the 
valuation of the experience, is no more the impelling cause 
or occasion of action than the shadow of a walking man is 
the cause or spring of his movement. 

The truth seems to lie midway between these extreme 
views. We may grant that the feeling does not first come 
into existence and then precipitate action or impel the or- 
ganism to move. Action may have its ultimate genesis in 
the nature of the organism as a constitutional tendency to 
action. I grant that the tendency to act is the essential 
nature of an organism and that the stimuli of the environ- 
ment only evoke or liberate or " set off " this tendency. But 
every stimulation of the organism, certainly every one that 
is registered in consciousness, evokes a two-fold response — 
one physical, the other psychical ; one a nervous excitation 
which tends to issue in a muscular contraction, the other a 
state of consciousness. Again, the state of consciousness 
which thus arises also has two aspects, a double " intention " 
— one objective, the other subjective. That is, the con- 
sciousness will focalize upon an object, whether it be a thing 
of sense or an idea ; and at the same time it develops an in- 



202 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ward, subjective reference. There is a realization of the 
subject which stands over against that object. Every con- 
scious state, certainly every ordinary one, has this polarity, 
object-subject; though conditions may render either the sub- 
ject or the object more prominent at the moment. Further- 
more, the meaning of the object for the subject is always a 
phase of this consciousness, very prominent or very incon- 
spicuous as the case may be. Now, when consciousness 
assumes this polar form of the object-subject relation the 
function is cognitive. When it appreciates the meaning of 
the object for the subject the function is affective — it is 
feeling. Simultaneously with the development of this con- 
scious state the nervous excitation is passing or tending to 
pass into some form of muscular contraction — some motor 
response to the stimulus which has occasioned the whole 
process. The feeling and the motor response are thus con- 
comitant. It can hardly be said, therefore, that the feeling 
which accompanies a given act is its motive, or prompts it. 

But the facts just stated do not at all imply that feeling 
has no influence in determining voluntary action. The proc- 
ess as described does not include certain factors which are 
characteristic of voluntary action. The specific character- 
istics of volition are, first, the presence in consciousness of 
two or more ends ; second, the choice of one of these imaged 
ends as against the other, which involves more or less of 
deliberation, i.e., the holding in check of the motor response 
until the meaning of the several ends for the self shall have 
been considered; and third, the fiat or resolution to realize 
the one selected, which is followed by the release of the 
nervous energy in one direction rather than another. Now, 
each of these ideas of ends is accompanied by feeling; the 
deliberation consists in comparing the values of these ends, 
i.e., their affective meaning for the self; the decision, there- 
fore, is in the last analysis grounded in feeling. 

If there were space to go into further details it could be 
shown that in other more indirect and remote ways feeling 
plays a great role in determining voluntary courses of 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 203 

action. Moods, those indefinite and more enduring states 
of feeling, react upon the whole course of mental life, in- 
fluencing the direction of one's attention, ideating processes 
and valuations, and so enter as indirect but important factors 
into choices and decisions. The sentiments, " those organ- 
ized systems of emotional tendencies centred about certain 
objects," 1 constitute yet more powerful and pervasive in- 
fluences which play continually upon our voluntary life and 
determine its courses more fundamentally than we realize. 
Of still greater importance are a man's ideals — which have 
been inadequately defined as ideas plus a strong emotional 
colouring. 2 Sentiments and ideals have been discussed in 
previous chapters and we need not dwell longer upon them 
here; but it is important to observe that as the life rises 
to higher levels, as action falls more and more under the 
control of far-reaching purposes and general ends and as 
the personality becomes more highly organized and unified, 
the sentiments and ideals become more potential fac- 
tors. Or perhaps the statement should be reversed. The 
more highly the sentiments and ideals are developed and the 
more important they become as factors of one's mental life, 
the more comprehensive become the purposes and the more 
general the ends which control his action. 

Feeling, then, does not play a dwindling part in the vol- 
untary life as it develops to higher stages, A wise and ef- 
fective appeal to feeling is necessary if you would secure 
from men a voluntary response; and if you are seeking to 
bring those under your influence to choose to live for high 
and distant and universal ends, one of your first and most 
important tasks is the development and organization of their 
emotional life. How this is done is discussed elsewhere 
in some detail. Here we need only call attention to the ex- 
tensive control over the development of character and des- 
tiny which lies in the hands of parents, teachers, preachers 
and all who in any way work directly upon human person- 

1 MacDougall, " Introduction to Social Psychology," p. 122. 

2 Bagley, " Educational Values," p. 58. 



204 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ality, by reason of their power to establish an abiding asso- 
ciation of certain feelings with certain objects and ideas and 
thus .to fix the direction of those persistent courses of vol- 
untary action, which alone lead to notable achievement in 
any sphere of life. 

But another principle of great practical importance must 
not be lost from view if serious mistakes are to be avoided. 
While the improvement of the voluntary life consists largely 
in the organization of feeling-dispositions around certain 
real or ideal objects, and involves, therefore, frequent ap- 
peals to the appropriate feelings in connection with these 
objects, the excitation of excessive feeling in relation to any 
object whatsoever never secures voluntary action at all. 
Again and again should it be repeated that, beyond a certain 
intensity, emotion — no matter what its character — renders 
deliberation and choice impossible; the whole psycho-physi- 
cal organism is thrown into violent commotion or abnormal 
tension; the intellectual processes are disturbed or totally 
hindered ; and the action which results from such powerful 
stimulation may be a correct index of the reflex or in- 
stinctive organization, but does not in any true sense repre- 
sent the personality. In such emotional states we speak of 
a man being " swept off his feet," or " playing the fool," or 
" acting silly ;" or we may say he is " beside himself," " he is 
not accountable for what he says," " he is crazy " or " daft." 
In more scientific phrase, his personality is for the time 
being disorganized. From the point of view of volition his 
actions are chaotic and capricious; they are not rationally 
controlled; they are not co-ordinated toward intelligently 
selected ends ; they are non-personal and would be of little 
significance if they did not so often result in positive injury 
to the moral and spiritual constitution. Such experiences 
do not normally tend toward the establishment of that bal- 
ance of the emotional and intellectual processes which is so 
marked a characteristic of the highest and noblest personal- 
ities. They tend rather to disturb that balance, to bring the 
organism under the domination of the reflexive and in- 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 205 

stinctive controls of conduct, to reduce to smaller propor- 
tions the rational control and so to restrict within narrower 
limits the range and freedom of voluntary action, and this 
without any compensation in the enrichment of the feel- 
ings. 

Such an emotional disturbance may serve a good purpose 
in exceptional conditions. Doubtless electrical storms, hur- 
ricanes and tornadoes, floods and earthquakes, all have nec- 
essary functions in the economy of nature ; but we neverthe- 
less count ourselves fortunate when such convulsions and 
upheavals are rare. They indicate that the equilibrium of 
cosmic forces has been lost and can be regained only by 
violent readjustments, which imperil many interests; and 
however necessary they may be, leave behind them a trail of 
wreckage and death. Sometimes abnormal processses are 
required to correct abnormal conditions, though it is by no 
means always so : and when they are, the sooner they can be 
dispensed with the better. So it is with storms of emotional 
excitement. 

The public speaker, and especially the preacher, should be 
a man of strong tuill. What does that expression mean? 
Often it means in common speech a man of powerful im- 
pulses ; but while a man of powerful impulses acts vigor- 
ously, he may not have a strong will. A strong will is one 
in which powerful impulses are subject to an equally power- 
ful self-control. The impulsive and inhibitive factors of 
personality should balance one another; but both must be 
strong to make a strong will. The man of energetic im- 
pulses and weak self-control is " wilful," which means that 
he is unreasonable, that he is disproportionately feeble in the 
intellectual and directive functions of his personality. 
Sometimes we call him " head-strong " — an expression 
which is singularly infelicitous, because his strength is em- 
phatically not in his head. The more accurate, though much 
less elegant, characterization of him is " bull-headed. " But 
a man's impulsive nature can hardly be too energetic if the 
inhibitive functions are in due proportion. The greatest 



206 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

public speakers have been notable in this respect. Their 
powerful impulses enable them to stir an audience ; but their 
equally powerful self-restraint, while making the impression 
of reserved force, checks unhealthy excesses. They make a 
balanced and proportionate appeal to the emotional and in- 
tellectual faculties of their hearers. They react with great 
energy upon their audiences, but they react upon the whole 
nature of those under their influence. 

The preacher should aim above all else at eliciting a vol- 
untary response from those to whom he appeals. The 
lawyer before a jury seeks a verdict that will acquit or con- 
demn, according to his relation to the prisoner. He is not 
interested primarily in the mental processes by which the 
jurors reach the desired decision. He is interested in the 
jury only as an instrumentality by which an end is to be 
reached which lies wholly beyond them. Too often the pol- 
itician also seeks to secure a response from the people with- 
out any concern as to the character of the mental processes 
involved. This is the specific mark of the demagogue. Some- 
times the same spirit of demagogism invades the pulpit and 
the minister seeks a response from his congregation with 
little solicitude as to the character of the mental processes 
by which he secures " results/' Visible results are the end. 
But he may not be aware that visible results secured by cer- 
tain methods may be accompanied by very disastrous in- 
visible results. The preacher is interested, and interested 
primarily, in the character of the psychical processes by 
which he gets results, because his " jury " is not a means to 
an ulterior end ; the development of character is his objective, 
if he is a true minister. If any ulterior motive sways him 
he should instantly leave the pulpit. 

Popular applause, excited demonstrations, numerous pro- 
fessions of religion do not necessarily imply that men have 
been stimulated to the intelligent consideration of great ethi- 
cal and religious issues and to choices which have turned 
their lives in new directions. These visible results have 
often been accomplished in ways which hindered the char- 



VOLUNTARY ACTION 207 

acteristic processes of the will and left the personality 
weaker than before. We may say without exaggeration that 
in overt responses to religious appeals everything depends 
upon the character of the mental processes which 'lead to 
these responses. Are the responses intelligent? Do they 
represent the personality? To insist that they be rational, 
the outcome of deliberation, personal in the true meaning of 
the word, is not to reduce religious experience to a cold and 
colourless intellectual calculation. I do not hesitate to say 
that to exclude feeling from religious experience is to de- 
stroy its character as religious ; but to exclude intelligent 
deliberation and choice is to reduce it to a mere blind re- 
action without ethical significance. It was characteristic of 
the Founder of Christianity that, while making powerful 
appeals to the deep emotions, he refused to accept a follow- 
ing which was not the result of serious deliberation and 
choice. " For which of you, desiring to build a tower, 
doth not sit down first and count the cost, whether he have 
wherewith to complete it? Lest haply when he hath laid a 
foundation and is not able to finish, all that behold begin 
to mock him, saying, ' this man began to build and was not 
able to finish.' Or what king as he goeth to encounter an- 
other king in war, will not sit down first and take counsel 
whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that 
cometh against him with twenty thousand ? " * And it is 
certain that no religion can ever be a potent factor in the 
promotion of the ethical life which does not put heavy em- 
phasis just here. The emotion is valuable only as it re- 
sults in intelligent decision. 

It is in voluntary action that the real man functions, and 
the preaching that does not secure this is useless or worse 
than useless. If the preacher is conscientious, then the 
more intelligent he is the less will he value superficial and 
temporary emotional effects, however dramatic and sensa- 
tional they may be. The transient and meretricious glory 
in which they envelop him will but add to his repugnance 

!Luke 14:28-31. 



208 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

for the pitiable sham of such false pulpit success. He will 
desire to develop true feeling; but, with his great Master, 
he will prefer to check the tides of an unintelligent emotion 
and drive home upon the minds of his hearers the strenuous 
difficulties of the spiritual life, to the irrevocable choice of 
which he is calling them. 



CHAPTER X 

SUGGESTION 

A gentleman remarked : " The psychologists write learn- 
edly these days about ' suggestion/ as if they had discovered 
something new. I have been making ' suggestions ' all my 
life." The humorous words, not untinged with sarcasm, 
have exactly as much point as if he had said : " The physi- 
ologists write learnedly about digestion, as if they had dis- 
covered something new, whereas I have been digesting food 
all my life." Processes, of course, must go on long before 
the science of them grows up. There were living organisms 
ages before there was any Biology; vegetation grew un- 
counted ages before there was a Botany ; men produced and 
exchanged goods for many centuries before a science of 
Economics was dreamed of. Critical reflection upon the on- 
goings of nature and life arose after the world was old, and 
there are many regions yet into which the search-light of 
methodical observation has not been flashed. The scien- 
tific study of suggestion as a distinct psychical process is 
comparatively recent. It is probable that the study of 
hypnosis and other kindred abnormal phenomena, so power- 
fully attractive to the scientific attention, led to the analysis 
of the normal process of suggestion, just as in many other 
instances attention to the exceptional has awakened interest 
in the far more important facts which, because of their 
familiarity, escaped observation. 

The word " suggestion " as used in popular speech is ex- 
tremely indefinite in meaning. In popular parlance, "to 
suggest " is about the same as " to indicate," " to point out," 
" to call attention to." In this vague meaning suggestion is 
simply the bringing to the mind a presentation which in 
some way influences or modifies the current of thought; 

209 



2IO PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

and so many definitions have been given it by psychologists 
that it has little more precision in scientific than in popular 
usage. However, if all the varying scientific uses of the 
term be carefully considered, it becomes evident that it points 
to a fairly definite and highly important class of mental phe- 
nomena. The essential characteristic of the process in- 
dicated is that there is brought before the mind a presenta- 
tion under such conditions as tend to secure its uncritical 
acceptance. Frequently it is an idea imparted by one per- 
son to another, and this is the kind of suggestion in which 
we are particularly interested in this discussion. Or it may 
be an idea which the mind voluntarily calls up and main- 
tains in the focus of attention until it dominates conscious- 
ness, in which case the process is known as auto-suggestion. 
But however the presentation is made, the point is that it is 
made under conditions which tend to secure its uncritical 
acceptance, to give it exclusive right of way in the mind. 

Before going further we should draw the important dis- 
tinction between normal and abnormal suggestion. By 
normal suggestion is meant the influencing of people through 
securing their uncritical acceptance of ideas under ordi- 
nary conditions and by ordinary means. Abnormal sugges- 
tion is that which is used under the extraordinary condi- 
tions of hysteria or hypnosis. Hysteria is an abnormal nerv- 
ous condition very favourable to the uncritical acceptance of 
ideas ; and hypnosis is a state of abnormal suggestibility in- 
duced by the use of certain kinds of suggestion. Just what 
that state is nobody really knows. In some respects it 
strikingly resembles ordinary sleep, and in other respects 
it is as strikingly dissimilar. The physiological conditions 
of hypnotism are very obscure, and about all that can be said 
with certainty as to the psychological conditions is that the 
self-direction of the subject is reduced to a very low degree; 
and when the trance is deepest, almost annihilated, though 
not quite. The control is transferred to another person, the 
operator. It is difficult to say whether the mob-state should 
be characterized as normal or abnormal, according to this 



SUGGESTION 211 

classification ; but it is unimportant, especially as that class 
of phenomena will receive special treatment in another 
chapter. Obviously, whatever exceptional and mysterious 
features may differentiate these abnormal states and proc- 
esses from those of ordinary life, the suggestion which is 
practised in them falls within our general definition — the 
bringing of presentations before the mind in such a way as 
to secure their uncritical acceptance. 1 

But while hypnotic suggestion falls within this general 
definition, it is nevertheless differentiated markedly from all 
other forms. Usually the subject must co-operate with the 
operator in the induction of the hypnotic state. He must fix 
his attention in a given direction or upon a given object, thus 
narrowing the range of his consciousness, and passively 
submit himself to the suggestive power of the hypnotist. 
Such co-operation seems to be generally necessary, except 
when the subject has been frequently hypnotized by the same 
operator. Repetition brings him more and more under the 
operator's influence, and his co-operation becomes less and 
less necessary, i.e., he graduallly loses his power to resist the 
influence of the one who has thus become his hypnotic mas- 
ter. Now and then there may be a case in which a person 
is at the beginning unable to resist a particular operator ; and 
in these rare instances, of course, the statement does not 
hold good that the consent and co-operation of the subject 
is necessary. But as a general rule it is true. 2 This power 
to fix the attention upon a certain object implies, of course, 
an important measure of will power, a mental organiza- 
tion of a fair measure of strength and stability. The im- 
pression sometimes prevails that weak-minded persons can 
with ease, while the strong-minded can only with difficulty, 
be hypnotized. This is not at all the case. Moll says: 
" The ability to give the thoughts a certain prescribed direc- 
tion is partly natural capacity, partly a matter of habit, 
and often an affair of will. Those, on the contrary, who can 
by no possibility fix their attention, who suffer from con- 

1 Moll's "Hypnotism," p. 55. 2 Ibid., p. 55. 






212 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tinued absence of mind, can hardly be hypnotized at all. It 
is especially among the nervous that a strikingly large num- 
ber of this class are to be found, who cannot hold fast to a 
thought, in whom a perpetual wandering of the mind pre- 
dominates. The disposition to hypnosis is also not espe- 
cially common among those persons who are otherwise very 
impressible. It is well known that there are some who can 
be easily influenced in life, who believe all they are told, 
upon whom the most unimportant trifles make an impres- 
sion, nevertheless, when an effort is made to hypnotize them, 
they offer a lively resistance, and the typical symptoms of 
hypnosis cannot be induced in them," 1 It seems then, as 
Moll intimates, that persons of weak mental organization are 
easily influenced by normal suggestion, by reason of the 
very conditions that render them intractible to the abnormal 
process. The " lively resistance " to the abnormal process 
offered by those who are so easily influenced in ordinary ex- 
perience is probably to be explained as a reaction of the or- 
ganism under the emotion of fear rather than as intelligent, 
self-controlled opposition. But more anon as to the condi- 
tions of normal suggestibility. 

It is important that we should clearly grasp the funda- 
mental psychological principles which underlie the gen- 
eral phenomena of suggestibility. We have previously em- 
phasized the truth that the function of thinking is to guide 
the organism in its adjustment to the environment. The 
image of an act is, it is said, the incipiency of the act — it is 
accompanied by the innervation of the motor tracts which 
are brought into play in the performance of the act. There 
is a tendency for those muscles to contract whose contrac- 
tions are parts of the act when performed. When one 
thinks a word there is an innervation of the muscles of the 
vocal organs used in its pronunciation. When one thinks 
of walking, especially if the idea is vivid, there starts a 
nerve current to the muscles employed in that process. " In 
thinking of a visual object, e.g., of an illuminated sign, there 

1 Ibid., p. 51. 



SUGGESTION 213 

are movements of accommodation and convergence of the 
eyes, if the person is of the visual type. In thinking of the 
sound of an orchestra there are changes in the tension of the 
muscles of the tympanum of the ear, or in the neck 
muscles," 1 and so on. It follows therefore that every idea 
of an act will result in the action, unless hindered by a com- 
peting idea, or ideas; provided, of course, there is no sub- 
jective or objective physical impediment that prevents the 
actual performance of it, no paralysis of the muscles or no 
material obstruction to the movement. And if the act be 
thus rendered impossible of execution, there will neverthe- 
less be a tendency to perform it. Clearly, then, when the 
idea of an action is imparted to a person under such condi- 
tions that no contrary idea is brought into consciousness 
with it, while the normal conditions of movement are pres- 
ent, the action will inevitably be performed. This general 
psychological truth has been experimentally confirmed times 
without number. It is a theoretical truism and an experi- 
mental commonplace. The idea imparted may, how- 
ever, not be an idea of an action, and may not directly 
refer to action at all. But when presented, will be ac- 
cepted by the mind as true, i.e., as a reliable basis for pos- 
sible action, unless there is present in consciousness 
some contrary or inconsistent idea. This proposition 
has been so much insisted upon in a preceding chap- 
ter that it is unnecessary to elaborate it here. We need 
only to repeat that the primary mental function is belief, 
the acceptance of a presentation as true, and when a pres- 
entation is rejected as false it is only because there is some- 
thing in the mental life as already organized which conflicts 
with it and prevails against it. In order, therefore, to con- 
trol the belief of a person it is only necessary to introduce 
an idea into his mind in such a way as to prevent any 
opposing idea or contrary feeling from coming into his con- 
sciousness with it ; or if any opposing mental content should 
make its appearance, to effect its suppression. 
1 Dunlap, " A System of Psychology," p. 158. 



214 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

In addition to these elementary psychological principles, 
there are two other truths that must be considered in order 
to understand the phenomena of normal suggestibility. 
The first is that every organism shows some degree of resist- 
ance to interference with its autonomy. One of the essen- 
tial characteristics of an organism is that it has some degree 
of spontaneity, some capacity for development from within, 
some measure of autonomy. If it were to lose its autonomy 
altogether, it would cease to be an organism. Resistance to 
interference with its autonomy is a manifestation of the in- 
stinct of self-preservation. The second truth is that the 
higher the organism stands in the scale of development, i.e., 
the more complex and the more highly integrated are its 
functions, the more jealous will it be of its autonomy, the 
more highly will it appreciate its capacity for development 
from within, the more stoutly will it resist any encroach- 
ment upon its independent life. In other words, the more 
of an organism it is, the more will it value its fundamental 
character as an organism, the more vigorously will it main- 
tain and assert this character. The higher the type of or- 
ganism, indeed, the more dynamic will it be; not only will 
its resistance to domination by environing agencies be greater, 
but its disposition to exert a positive, controlling, shaping in- 
fluence upon its environment will increase. According to 
this principle personalities may be classified as passive, stub- 
born (resistant), and aggressive. Perhaps a better designa- 
tion of the second and third types would be " the contrary " 
and "the creative." Of course, none are absolutely passive 
— to be so would be ipso facto the negation of personality. 
Likewise none are absolutely stubborn or resistant; and 
none are absolutely aggressive. The passive have, of 
course, some self -activity; the stubborn are in some measure 
subject to outside influence and exert some measure of posi- 
tive control over others; the aggressive may also be in- 
fluenced to some extent and are under the necessity some- 
times of maintaining themselves by negative resistance. But 



SUGGESTION '2 1 $ 

relatively speaking, these three adjectives describe three 
very distinct types of disposition. 

In the light of what has been said we may formulate 
two fundamental laws of normal suggestibility. 

I. Suggestibility varies, other things being equal, in- 
versely as the insistence of the personality upon maintaining 
its autonomy. The passive are the most suggestible of the 
three types. The aggressive have little susceptibility to this 
kind of influence unless the suggestions given run parallel 
with their strong passions or settled purposes ; and then their 
susceptibility will depend upon the degree to which their ra- 
tional powers have been developed. The stubborn or neg- 
atively resistant type seem wholly and abnormally preoccu- 
pied with the desire to maintain their independence. They 
are " contrary," and this contrariness seems to arise out of 
the fact that with them the normal tendency to differentiate 
themselves from others can realize itself not through posi- 
tive and constructive action, but only by setting themselves in 
opposition to others. They have a personality highly 
enough developed to be jealous of its independence, but not 
highly enough developed to manifest and satisfy self-feeling 
in creative action. They can maintain the consciousness of 
personal autonomy only by jealously resisting others. They 
are not easily susceptible to direct suggestion because they 
are perpetually on the defensive. As with a besieged city, 
every avenue of approach is guarded and every gate is 
locked. They can be taken only by consummate strategy. 
Suggestions from others arouse opposition simply because 
they come from others. Being deficient in aggressive, crea- 
tive energy themselves, they realize that they cannot follow 
the suggestions of others without sinking into merely passive 
echoes of their social environment. The only way in which 
they can be managed is through the method of what may be 
called counter-suggestion — a suggestion in one direction 
may be given them in order to awaken their resistance and 
cause them to react in the opposite direction. To this kind 



2l6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

of suggestion they are, if of low mental grade, quite sus- 
ceptible. 

2. Other things equal, normal suggestibility varies in- 
versely as the mental equipment and organization. The 
wider the range of one's ideas and the more thoroughly in- 
tegrated in an intellectual system they are, the less subject 
to normal suggestion will one be, other conditions remaining 
the same. If the store of ideas is a rich and varied one, the 
greater is the likelihood that there will be in the mental sys- 
tem something contrary to any idea that may be suggested. 
This is self-evident. But an equally important considera- 
tion is that if the collection of ideas is well organized, uni- 
fied, or correlated into a system there is a greater probability 
that any suggested idea will awaken and bring into con- 
sciousness any such opposing idea. This is the great ad- 
vantage of mental organization, just as it is the advantage 
of organization in any other realm of life. It is well 
known and often remarked that a man may have a wealth 
of resources, but if they are loosely organized they are likely 
not to be available at the particular moment when they are 
most needed. A badly organized army, although having a 
large and splendid body of men with ample equipment, may 
be defeated by a smaller body of less amply provisioned 
troops, if the latter is greatly superior in organization. 
How often does a man exclaim, after committing some fool- 
ish act, " I ought to have known better — I did know better, 
but I was off my guard ; I was caught napping." There was 
in his mind knowledge which, if it had been available at the 
proper moment, would have saved him from the blunder; 
but he " did not think " until it was too late ; and the knowl- 
edge which ought to have guided action only reflected its 
vain and belated light back upon the pitfalls which it should 
have made visible in advance. The ultimate cause of these 
blunders and vain regrets is that the mental system is lack- 
ing in adequate organization, so that a given impulse 
does not call into consciousness all of the contents of 
the mind which are relevant. From somebody or some 



SUGGESTION 21? 

situation there comes a " suggestion," and, as it does not 
call forth into the light all the ideas which should be brought 
into relation with it, it passes on unchallenged into action. 
Afterwards these ideas come straggling in, led by the string 
of some chance association, just as if a detachment of troops 
which had become separated from the main army and did 
not hear the roar of the cannon should come stumbling by 
accident upon the battlefield after the engagement had been 
fought and lost. The physiological basis of this loose men- 
tal organization, we are told, is the lack of a sufficient 
number of well-established neural connections between the 
specialized brain-centres, so that a stimulation of one is not 
promptly communicated to all the others. However that 
may be, it is certainly a fact that in people of low mental 
development there is, on the psychological side, a lack of 
close correlation between the various groups of ideas; so 
that they are readily responsive to normal suggestion, 
though, on account of their deficiency in the power of in- 
hibition, they may not be easily capable of the concentration 
of attention which is necessary for the induction of the 
hypnotic state. Their normal suggestibility consists in the 
fact that an idea imparted to them is likely not to call 
into consciousness ideas that are relevant, and is likely, 
therefore, to be uncritically accepted and acted upon. 

It is important to note that the manner in which one's 
mental organization has been built up has much to do with 
his suggestibility. We have previously noted that a mental 
system which grows up unreflectively — which is non-theo- 
retical in character — will have many gaps and inconsist- 
encies in it. The mental structure will be lacking in general 
coherence and unity. On the other hand, one whose mental 
system is mainly theoretical in character, i.e., has not been 
tested in practical experience, will also be deficient, not in 
unity, but in a certain sense of reality. Usually such a 
mental system will not be, either in its constituent ele- 
ments or in their connections with one another, so vividly 
realized, so " stamped in," as one that has been built up 



2l8 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

through both practice and reflection. Reflection bestows 
upon it a more systematic unity; practical experience gives 
actually stronger coherency. Now if one's mental organiza- 
tion is the result of both practical experience and reflection, 
he will be less suggestible than if it were chiefly the prod- 
uct of either theory or unreflective experience. His system 
of ideas will have greater solidity and persistence, more 
grip ; will more completely dominate the conscious life and, 
therefore, will have more power to inhibit or expel contrary 
suggestions. 

It is obvious in the light of these " laws of suggestibility " 
that all men are in some measure suggestible. Nobody 
has a collection of ideas which comprehends all that are rel- 
evant to all the suggestions that may be offered ; nobody has 
a perfect organization of his mental contents ; nobody, as al- 
ready said, is absolutely resistant or aggressive in relation to 
other persons. Therefore nobody is beyond the reach of 
the mental influence called normal suggestion. But varia- 
tions among people in this respect are very great, and there 
are certain classes which are especially subject to it. 
Children are by far the most important of these classes. 
The reasons for their extraordinary suggestibility are ap- 
parent. Physiologically, the child is equipped with the 
requisite biological automatisms, a series of well established 
nervous reflexes and a number of more complex nervous co- 
ordinations, which appear to come into action at suitable 
stages in its development, but which are much less rigidly 
fixed than in the young of the lower animals. In addition 
there is a brain mass which is unorganized and is destined to 
receive organization in the individual's own experience. On 
the mental side, there is, corresponding to this physical or- 
ganization, a large number of sensori-motor reactions and 
more or less indefinite instincts, which successively develop 
as the child grows ; but there is not present, of course, any 
system of ideas, for this is waiting to be constituted in indi- 
vidual experience. Now, the absence of a system of ideas, 
of a mental organization built up in personal experience, 



SUGGESTION 2IO, 

leaves the child without any controls of conduct except those 
given in its inherited nervous constitution and the sugges- 
tions that come to it from others. Hence the extensive role 
which suggestion plays in the life of the child. There is 
doubtless a primal stage in its mental history in which the 
distinction between the real and unreal is not apprehended 
by it, in which it cannot accurately be said to exercise belief, 
but in which each external impression is simply made upon 
its mind without being in a conscious way related to others. 
Gradually sense impressions received in this way form the 
basis of a mental system ; but long after the process of build- 
ing up a mental system has begun, the child is almost help- 
less before suggestion and accepts as real any idea imparted, 
and acts upon it unless it happens to collide with some in- 
herited constitutional tendency. 

The growth of a mind is like the development of a new 
country. At first it is open to invasion from every direction, 
with nothing to determine the character of the incoming peo- 
ples and nothing to control the distribution of the rapidly 
increasing population, except the configuration of its surface 
and the location of its natural resources. Sparse settle- 
ments are quickly planted here and there, between which, as 
they grow in size, paths of intercommunication are opened 
up. Steadily these population centres increase in number 
and dimension and connecting lines of travel and traffic 
multiply, until a vast, complex, interrelated society is or- 
ganized. As the social organization proceeds, the intro- 
duction of new people and new social influences from with- 
out is regulated with reference to the possibility of assim- 
ilating them to the existing system of social life. The in- 
fantile period of the individual life corresponds to the earlier 
stages of this development. Into the new country come 
pouring people from everywhere with little regulation, re- 
ceived with the open hospitality of the wide, vacant, fertile 
spaces. Just so the child-mind takes whatever comes to it. 
It simply cannot critically examine what is told it ; it has no 
criteria established in its experience by which to judge. If 



220 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

it is assured that in fairyland men grow as tall as trees, its 
own experience may have become extensive enough to make 
the statement appear wonderful, perhaps, but not impos- 
sible ; and maybe its ideas of trees and men are so indefinite 
and uncorrelated that the statement does not cause wonder, 
much less scepticism. At this stage almost every impres- 
sion which the child receives comes to it with the force of 
reality. It is by suggestion alone that its stock of ideas is 
increased. Instruction of the little one proceeds by sug- 
gestion, and it is only at a later period and gradually that 
suggestions, pure and simple, can be replaced by rational 
processes as the method of teaching. Suggestion in the in- 
fantile period is the proper method, and there is not about 
it then the malodorous atmosphere of indirection and eva- 
sion which is apt to accompany it when used as a means of 
influencing adults, and this for the simple reason that there 
is little in the child's mind which it is necessary to evade in 
order to induce it to accept at once an imparted idea. The 
indirection and evasion which are associated with sugges- 
tion, in the technical sense of the word, are usually occa- 
sioned by the necessity of avoiding hindrances and obstruc- 
tions which have their roots in the mental system organized 
in personal life. Very few such impediments are found in 
the child's life. 

Women constitute another unusually suggestible class. 
This statement must, of course, be accepted with much qual- 
ification, but as a general proposition it is true. It is prob- 
ably not due at all to any essential inferiority of the female 
mind. Into the relative mental ability of the sexes this is 
not the place to go ; but it may be said that the differences 
which exist are in all probability mainly functional, i.e., have 
their origin in the different functions that men and women 
have fulfilled throughout the history of the race, and seem 
under the conditions of modern life to be undergoing con- 
siderable modification, though they can never wholly dis- 
appear. The sex functions have their basis in, or, it might 
with equal plausibility be urged, form the basis of certain 



SUGGESTION 221 

biological differences — at any rate are closely associated 
with biological peculiarities — which doubtless modify to 
some extent the mental operations of men and women. But 
into that somewhat obscure question we are not called to 
go. The greater suggestibility of women is certainly due in 
the main to the more limited range of their activities, and to 
the inferior education which as a rule they have received. 
From the beginning of human society women have moved in 
a narrower and more monotonous circle of experience than 
men, and for ages it was not felt that education was a part 
of the appropriate preparation for their function in life. 
They have been regarded as subject to men. In regard to 
most matters a woman's mental life was simply the echo 
or shadow of the opinions and beliefs of the men of her 
group, and, if she were married, those of her husband in par- 
ticular. To be suggestible was regarded as one of her chief 
feminine excellencies. In politics, in religion, in general 
views of life she was expected to reflect the ideas of the 
men on whom her life was dependent. In certain peculiarly 
sexual virtues alone was she expected to be superior to them, 
but at the same time was not expected to be intolerant of 
their dereliction. The status of women is much the same 
even today, although it has been greatly modified in some 
parts of the world. 

The education which they have received has been such as 
fitted in with this conception of their relation to the other 
sex. It was long after extensive provision for the educa- 
tion of men had become a settled social policy before schools 
for women were established ; and then the courses of study 
provided for them were not selected with a view to the de- 
velopment of their rational powers, but aimed rather at 
equipping them with certain " accomplishments " which 
would supplement their natural graces and reinforce their 
personal charms, but leave them deficient in mental organ- 
ization and for the most part innocent of ideas. In some 
parts of the world a great change, amounting almost to a 
revolution, has been witnessed in the last forty years. But 



222 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

this revolution has as yet only indirectly influenced the lives 
of the great masses of women. 

Under these circumstances it would be remarkable if 
women were not far more suggestible then men. In mat- 
ters which lie wholly beyond the range of their experience 
they, of course, accept with little questioning what they 
have heard or read, just as everybody does. There are 
many important affairs in which they take only an indirect 
or secondary interest, about which they entertain, however, 
very positive and perhaps intolerant opinions — the reflec- 
tion of the opinions of their fathers or husbands or broth- 
ers, or the men to whom they for some reason look for 
leading. This is true as to politics, theology, and the the- 
ory of life in general. In these matters women are very 
suggestible, if the suggestions come from the men who are 
their acknowledged leaders ; extremely unsuggestible if the 
suggestions come from some other source and conflict with 
the authority which they have accepted. Most women have 
no first-hand interest in such matters. Their primary in- 
terest is in persons, not theories, and from the persons 
who enjoy their supreme confidence and allegiance they 
usually receive uncritically their theoretical views, which are 
likely to be held with passionate positiveness simply because 
the personal relations which determine them involve such 
deep feelings. It is their extreme readiness to receive sug- 
gestions as to such matters from certain persons which 
renders them extraordinarily resistant to suggestions from 
others. 

Women are also more subject to collective suggestion 
than men. Prevalent social standards and codes are more 
readily accepted by them, and it is alleged that " fashion " 
is all-powerful with them. Probably men would have diffi- 
culty in establishing their claim to as great a degree of 
superiority in this respect as they assume ; but all the con- 
ditions of their life tend to make women especially sus- 
ceptible to this form of suggestion. It is quite impossible 
to explain on any other ground numerous anomalies and 



SUGGESTION 223 

irrationalities in the fashions of female dress which sud- 
denly sweep over the civilized world and as suddenly give 
way to some other " mode," perhaps even more absurd than 
that which it replaces. But here also is noticeable a limita- 
tion of their suggestiblity. If they are disposed to accept 
uncritically the views of the men who possess their loyalty 
in matters of theological anl political opinion and the gen- 
eral theory of life, their minds are quite closed to sugges- 
tions from the same source as to fashion in dress. Here 
without question they follow other gods, unless we except 
a certain class of " new women " who in their ambition to 
enjoy the privileges of masculinity try to ape the dress of 
men. Within the range of their experience and knowledge 
and about matters which they have come to think of as 
within their peculiar sphere of life, they are no more sug- 
gestible than men. It is not a question of the comparative 
mental ability of men and women, but of the comparative 
range of their experience and interests ; and from the origin 
of society women have been confined within a much nar- 
rower and more monotonous circle of life. Always and 
everywhere persons so situated are readily influenced by 
means of suggestion, and especially so if the suggestion is 
concerning matters outside the range of their experience. 
The mental organization of such persons is of a lower grade, 
however great may be their natural capabilities. It is in 
contact with a varied and stimulating environment, either in 
first-hand experience or through literature — or preferably 
in both ways — that the mental life becomes highly and pro- 
portionately organized and susceptibility to suggestion cor- 
respondingly reduced. 

But sometimes it happens that persons who live in an 
extensive and stimulating environment, who have varied 
contacts with the world and read much, are nevertheless un- 
usually susceptible. They have many ideas, but their 
mental life never loses its chaotic, loosely correlated, ununi- 
fied character; and they remain especially suggestible. 
Doubtless their weakness is due to some constitutional de- 



224 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

feet of the brain rather than the lack of proper education. 
There are, of course, all degrees of defective variation from 
the normal organization of the brain. Many who are not 
technically classed as " defectives " are nevertheless not up 
to the standard of normality. They live among normal 
people, and participate usefully in the ordinary functions of 
life and keep their heads above water in the competitive 
struggle; but are exceedingly suggestible and are always 
under the control of more powerful minds, because their 
mental life can never attain to the unity and coherence 
necessary for self-direction. 

We must turn now to the consideration of the effective 
methods of suggestion. 

i. Normal suggestion, in order to be effective, must be 
indirect. It must not come as a command. Yielding to 
a command, whether based upon recognized authority or 
upon force, is a different thing from accepting a sugges- 
tion. Even in hypnosis the suggestion is received not as 
a command based upon recognised authority or force; and in 
the normal process the distinction is still broader. If the 
suggestion is given as a command in normal suggestion it 
at once arouses the resistance of the organism to the abridg- 
ment of its autonomy. After a person has been brought by 
some means under the abnormal control of the suggester, 
the suggestion may be given in the form of a command ; but 
has a different significance to the subject even then. Under 
ordinary conditions the suggestion is ineffective if given in 
a form likely to make the subject feel that the control of an- 
other is being forced on him, or that he is being made the 
dupe of another. The more highly developed the person- 
ality of the subject is, the more necessary is the skilful 
avoidance of any act or manner which would make the im- 
pression that there was an intention to interfere with his per- 
sonal autonomy, the more evident must be the scrupulous 
respect for his personal independence. To evince a high 
valuation of the subject's personality adds much to the ef- 
fectiveness of the suggestion, and in the case of weak or 



SUGGESTION 225 

vain persons it may even help for it to take the form of gross 
flattery. This is one of the well-known artifices of the po- 
litical demagogue ; indeed, is a favourite method of demagogy 
in every sphere of life. But with an average audience or an 
individual of experience it must be used with caution lest it 
defeat its own ends. It is fatal to make the impression of 
flattery; for the paradox holds true that while there is no- 
body who does not like to be flattered, everybody resents 
flattery and despises the flatterer. But when attempting to 
exert suggestive influence upon a highly developed person- 
ality the visible indirection of the method is, perhaps, even 
more fatal to success than a direct effort to control him. In 
any case the indirection should not be obvious to the subject. 
Hence it is that a most effective method often is a great 
show of frankness and straightforwardness, which is the 
very perfection of indirection. 

But indirection is essential to the effectiveness of nor- 
mal suggestion not only because it respects personal inde- 
pendence, but because it avoids arousing into activity what- 
ever contents of the mind may be opposed to the idea sug- 
gested. The idea which is presented directly is far more 
likely, under normal conditions, to call into consciousness 
ideas of an opposing tendency. It comes boldly knocking at 
the front door and will not be likely to gain admittance with- 
out at least waking up the inmates of the house and increas- 
ing the chances that it will be challenged before crossing the 
threshold. If the idea is presented in such a way as to make 
the person feel that it has occurred to him, is the product of 
his own mental activity, it has the advantage of enlisting 
self-respect on its side, and this adds greatly to its suggestive 
force. 

2. It is important to secure the confidence of the sub- 
ject. To do this the first essential is to make the impression 
that the suggestion comes from a disinterested source. If in 
making the suggestion there is any indication that the sug- 
gester has a personal end to attain the effect is, of course, 
at once fatal to success. If the impression is conveyed that 



226 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the person imparting the idea is not only without a personal 
interest to serve, but is positively devoted to the interest of 
the one he seeks to influence; if he can appear to be sacri- 
ficing some personal interest, he can enormously increase 
the force of his suggestion. He not only disarms criticism 
and opposition but arouses sympathy and wins affection, 
which lends a great moral force to his suggestions. This 
is based upon the well-known fact, which reflects the highest 
credit on human nature, that disinterested devotion to the 
welfare of others confers a mighty moral authority. It is 
not strange that men who are moved by motives less divine 
should often wear the livery of love, sometimes, perhaps, 
without fully realizing the ethical significance of what they 
are doing. The politician magnifies his service to the peo- 
ple. Sometimes the preacher magnifies not his calling, as 
Paul did, but his sacrifices and hardships, only half con- 
scious, let us hope, that he is thus seeking an influence with 
the people which will lead them to be more tolerant of his 
shortcomings and derelictions, more uncritical in the accept- 
ance of his favourite notions and, possibly, disposed to con- 
tribute more freely and less questioningly to his material 
support. But whether the impression of disinterested devo- 
tion be the result of artful design or not, it is an important 
condition of suggestive power. 

A second important method of securing the confidence 
which gives force to one's suggestion is to make the im- 
pression that one is a recognized authority on the subject of 
which he speaks. Give one prestige in any walk of life or 
in any department of thought, and it imparts a strange sug- 
gestive force to what he says. A man achieves a world- 
wide reputation as a chemist, and the masses of men accept 
unquestioningly his declarations on chemical subjects, how- 
ever improbable they may be. A man who has come to be 
the acknowledged leader of his political party will find that 
his words carry in the minds of the people a weight alto- 
gether out of proportion to their reasonableness or his real 
wisdom. The people often listen with rapt attention to one 



SUGGESTION 227 

who has acquired a wide reputation as a great preacher, 
even though his utterances may be very commonplace and 
would be so regarded if they came from an obscure man. 
Eminence gives to a person's utterances extraordinary 
weight even about matters concerning which he has no ex- 
pert knowledge or special skill. Distinction, reputation, 
high position give authority, predispose people to belief, 
tend to allay doubts and questionings, and induce uncritical 
acceptance of the statements which come from so impres- 
sive a source. It is a popular susceptibility to this form of 
suggestion which gives to great leaders in any line of 
thought or activity a power over the uncultured populace 
that is so extensive, so absolute and so permanent, and that 
is often so sadly in excess of their personal worth and abil- 
ity. A man of mediocre ability may by shrewd self-adver- 
tisement acquire on this ground an authority in religious and 
political bodies which would be laughable were it not so 
serious in its practical import. Sometimes a veritable char- 
latan secures in this way a greater influence over many peo- 
ple than men of sound character and ripe wisdom can ac- 
quire. It would, however, be a capital mistake to draw 
from these facts an inference prejudicial to democracy; for 
we must remember that under a system of absolutism the 
monarch by reason of his exaltation possesses extravagant 
suggestive power over the masses of the people, and at 
the same time is, himself, by the very conditions of his life 
and training, often peculiarly suggestible along certain lines ; 
and cunning self-seekers flourish by exploiting this weakness 
of the sovereign, and their machinations are carried on in 
secret and are not given the publicity which they cannot 
wholly avoid in a democracy. Sooner or later publicity 
will destroy the power of a mere demagogue. " You can- 
not fool all the people all the time." 

Often, however, a man's suggestive power rests upon a 
foundation more secure than mere reputation or popular 
prestige. It may be the result of some peculiar and unde- 
finable quality of his personality. Some men have a strange 



228 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

power to cast a spell over others. It is popularly called 
" personal magnetism," though that is by no means a de- 
scriptive phrase, only a name for our ignorance. Some- 
times it seems to be a charming winsomeness that takes us 
willing captives ; sometimes we feel a contagious enthusiasm 
which, like a pervasive warmth, penetrates and thaws out 
the frost of our indifference, or even our opposition ; some- 
times we find ourselves quietly submitting without a struggle 
to the sheer dominating strength of a personality, as to a 
mighty force of nature against which we feel it vain to 
strive. But whatever form this power takes it seems to 
master us by the inhibition of our individual rational powers, 
so that the ideas of the masterful personality are grafted 
upon our pliant minds. A far more useful and socially val- 
uable type of personality is that which influences us not by 
inhibition but by stimulation. Some men seem to wake up 
all that is latent in our own personalities. In their pres- 
ence we seem to be most truly and fully ourselves. But the 
kind of personal force we have been describing is that 
which, though it may induce in us pleasant feelings, limits 
or suspends in some degree our self-activity. It is not 
pleasant to realize that such personal force may be found in 
connection with personal unworthiness ; but there certainly 
does not seem to be any fixed and invariable connection be- 
tween such qualities and ethical soundness of character, and 
frequently the demagogue and the charlatan are personally 
almost irresistible. But whether men so gifted be good or 
bad, they are able to cast their spell on individuals and audi- 
ences and sway them by the power of suggestion. Their 
presence and bearing secure confidence by driving out of 
the field of consciousness for the time being all opposing 
ideas. 

Still another method of securing the confidence of the 
subject is to begin on common ground with him; emphasize 
beliefs which he holds and particularly those which he holds 
with especial tenacity; encourage his peculiar prejudices 
and predilections. This is highly effective, whether it be an 



SUGGESTION 229 

individual or an audience one is seeking to influence sug- 
gestively. The prepossession which it creates in one's 
favour renders the subject uncritical, forestalls or weakens 
the force of any objections which may chance to arise in the 
mind. Persons who have intense prejudices, and ill-bal- 
anced people who place excessive emphasis upon certain pet 
notions, doctrines or theories, are peculiarly susceptible to 
suggestion by this method; and who has not his irrational 
convictions, adhesion to which seems to him the surest 
guaranty of rationality, and his favourite doctrine or 
theory which seems to him to be the very axis of the sphere 
of truth? The skilful suggester, approaching him on this 
" blind side," stands an excellent chance of inserting some 
idea into his mind and securing its uncritical acceptance; 
for surely, the subject feels, one who is wise enough to share 
this prejudice and has insight enough to appreciate the car- 
dinal truth of this doctrine or theory can be trusted to have 
safe and sound ideas in general. 

3. The fact has previously been mentioned that all men 
are in some measure subject to suggestive influence; but 
there is one condition under which all men are easy victims. 
Any person who is under the sway of a strong emotion or a 
mighty passion is extraordinarily suggestible in the general 
direction of that emotion or passion. Suppose an incident 
has occurred which has excited in a man the fear that his 
house may be burglarized. One need only whisper to him 
in the night that a burglar is in the house in order to start 
him out with bated breath and with pistol in hand to sur- 
prise and shoot the intruder. A man who is consumed with 
the passion of political ambition needs only to be told by a 
few friends that he is the logical candidate for the legis- 
lature or the governorship to plunge with confident en- 
thusiasm into the campaign. Those few favouring voices 
are multiplied in his too willing ears to the volume of a loud 
popular demand. The girl who is really in love with a 
young man accepts with unquestioning faith the slightest 
assurance that his character is irreproachable. The people 



23O PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

who have been stirred to deep resentment by the knowledge 
that illegitimate influences have been exerted by special in- 
terests upon their representatives in the government are apt 
to accept without examination every charge of bribery and 
corruption; and the artful demagogues know only too well 
how to avail themselves of the heightened popular sug- 
gestibility in order to cast a fatal suspicion upon the true 
friends of the people's interests. The emotion or passion 
in such cases acts as a powerful inhibition of all contrary 
ideas, narrows the field of consciousness and gives particu- 
larly free right of way to the appropriate suggestion. The 
idea which prompts to action in the line of the emotion or 
passion is like a boat which is rowed with the stream, while 
the ideas of a contrary tendency must breast the momentum 
of the current. It is evident that, since almost every man 
has some pronounced emotional tendency and is the subject 
of some master passion, most people are easily influenced 
by suggestion if only the proper line of approach to the 
citadel of their personality can be discovered. Hence one 
of the most effective ways of inducing suggestibility is to 
stir the emotions, inflame the passions of the subject. 

4. Repetition is often necessary to render suggestion 
effective. It appears that the motor effect of the idea ac- 
cumulates with successive repetitions. The motor impulse 
imparted by the suggestion does not pass away immediately, 
and if before it dies out completely the strength of the 
second impulse is added to the remaining strength of the 
first, the pressure increases, like the weight of an accumu- 
lating mass of water against a dam. Manifestly when 
repetition is necessary, the suggested idea has met with some 
degree of resistance. There is often in the mental situation 
some contrary tendency which does not spring from clearly 
conscious reasons. It may be some idea or " reason " which 
is not at the time in consciousness, but whose influence is 
projected into the conscious field; or it may be the mere 
blind " pull " of a disposition or a habit ; but when the 
suggestion meets with this sort of resistance, it is important 



SUGGESTION 23I 

to prevent any definite contrary ideas from becoming con- 
scious, until the suggested idea by this cumulative effect 
can over-bear this blind obstruction. If in this way the 
obstruction is not soon overcome; if the process of sugges- 
tion is discontinued so long as to lose cumulative motor 
effect, one, or perhaps both, of two results will follow. 
First, the law of habit will intervene to give greater relative 
strength to the resistance. We say sometimes that a man 
has become " hardened " to certain influences. His re- 
sistance may not be based upon any definite reasons but he 
becomes more and more indifferent to such appeals. This 
blind momentum of his nature, having prevailed again and 
again against counter influences, has become practically 
immovable. Second, if the suggestion fails and is discon- 
tinued, there is always the probability that ideas which at 
first were operative only in a sub-conscious way will rise 
into clear consciousness and become far more powerful as 
definite reasons against the suggestion. But this leads to 
the consideration of a matter which we must now dis- 
cuss in some detail. 

Repetition should not be continuous nor occur with too 
much regularity. In the first place, it soon becomes, under 
ordinary conditions, intolerably wearisome. I have heard 
of an evangelist whose entire discourse on one occasion con- 
sisted of the repetition, in different tones of voice and with 
endless variations of emphasis, of one single passage of 
scripture which described in terrible terms the perdition 
of the wicked. The effect was said to have been startling. 
But in that particular case the religious excitement had 
been running high for several days and the conditions were 
extraordinary. Ordinarily such a procedure would prove 
a fiasco. In the second place, the repetition, if it occurs at 
such regular intervals as to attract attention to the regu- 
larity, will cause a diversion which will tend to destroy the 
effect ; and it will also excite the suspicion of artful design, 
which will prevent success. The oftener it recurs regularly 
without success, the less will be its power. The law of 



232 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

habit-formation will see to that. If the suggestion be re- 
peated by different persons at irregular intervals, in such a 
way as to avoid making the impression of collusion, the sug- 
gestive effect is heightened. We are familiar with the stock 
illustration of the power of a suggestion repeated in this 
way. A man walks down the street in the morning feeling 
in excellent health. He meets a friend who remarks, 
" Why, what is the matter? You do not look at all well this 
morning." From time to time throughout the day other 
friends make the same or similar remarks concerning his 
appearance. In the evening the man returns home looking 
and feeling unwell. There is added to the cumulative effect 
of mere repetition the massive effect of collective sugges- 
tion. The same declaration made by two men is more im- 
pressive than the declaration made twice by one man; and 
the repetition of a statement by a thousand persons may 
be overwhelming, while a thousand repetitions of it by one 
person might be wholly ineffective. Beyond a certain point, 
which is soon reached, repetition by the same person ceases 
to add force, if it does not excite suspicion or disgust. But 
the greater the number of persons who concur in the 
affirmation of any proposition, the greater becomes its sug- 
gestive power. However, collective suggestion will receive 
consideration later on and need not be dwelt upon here. 

5. Suggestion aims at immediate or speedy effects. Its 
effectiveness is usually in proportion to the immediateness 
of the response. The reason is obvious. In normal sug- 
gestion the lapse of time increases the opportunity for 
bringing out all relevant considerations and for a rational 
examination of the idea suggested, in which it may be in- 
telligently rejected ; or if thoughtfully adopted, its accept- 
ance will be the result not of suggestibility but of rational 
activity. It is noticeable that those who rely upon sugges- 
tion as a method of influencing others usually insist upon 
immediate action, while those who instinctively resist this 
kind of influence usually insist upon postponement of action, 
and it is a healthy instinct. The desire to postpone action 



SUGGESTION 233 

may be, and often is, the result of moral inertia, or of a habit 
that has enfeebled the will, or of a positive inclination in a 
wrong direction. This is so often the case that one hesitates 
to say anything to encourage the deferring of action in 
response to an appeal. But it is nevertheless true that, if 
the response is one of thoughtless impulse, a mere nervous 
reaction under the power of suggestion, its ethical value is 
naught. The only antidote for an enfeebled will is to 
stimulate to voluntary action, the rational control of con- 
duct; and an immediate motor reaction induced merely by 
suggestion only adds to the enfeeblement of the will. There 
is no curative power, no redemptive virtue in it. One is 
thus often precipitated into action which is subsequently 
deplored and can only with difficulty be reconsidered; or 
committed to a position from which he would gladly recede 
but cannot without self-stultification ; and so goes on through 
life embarrassed and morally compromised by the conscious- 
ness of standing in false relations. This exactly describes 
the situation of thousands who today are enrolled as mem- 
bers of Christian churches; and, while it enables the 
churches to make a brave show as to numerical strength, 
is one of the chief causes of the comparative lack of power 
of organized Christianity. I make bold to say that the dis- 
astrous results of this false psychological method are more 
general and more irremediable in the realm of religion than 
anywhere else. 

The very terms of the definition as well as the whole fore- 
going discussion imply that there is an art of suggestion. 
That art is, consciously or unconsciously, used in a great 
variety of circumstances in practical life. The huckster 
vending his wares, the politician seeking votes for his party, 
the lawyer pleading before a jury, the veteran in vice tempt- 
ing his companion to go astray, the drummer seeking an 
order, the salesman behind the counter, the advertiser in the 
newspaper (perhaps this is the field in which the art is most 
systematically employed and most highly developed), and 
others in various lines of activity too numerous to mention 



234 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

make use of this art. It is also obvious from what has 
been said that it may sometimes be legitimately used for 
worthy purposes. But while it is freely granted that it has 
its spheres of legitimate use, it is also true that those 
spheres are limited. It is brought under suspicion by the 
very fact that it aims at the uncritical acceptance of the 
presentation. There is in it a certain lack of openness and 
straightforwardness. It is not exactly a form of mental 
burglary; but when one is dealing with adults it procures 
assent, belief and action — captures the mind — by indirec- 
tion and evasion. 

This characteristic sharply differentiates suggestion from 
persuasion. Both aim at influencing the belief and action of 
another; but the methods are very different, if not directly 
opposite. Persuasion seeks something more than uncritical 
assent and unreflective action; its objective is rational con- 
viction and action, which is the reaction of the whole mind. 
Its method, therefore, is to face all the essential issues, to 
meet and fairly allay all opposing considerations by open 
reasoning. In persuasion, appeals to the feelings are legiti- 
mate, important; but the appeals must be made in the light 
of all the relevant facts and conditions. In suggestion the 
effort is to avoid arousing the self of the person into full 
activity, often to reduce his self -activity to a minimum, and 
thus to graft one's own idea or purpose on to his mental life. 
In persuasion the effort is to help another in his self-activity 
to reach a rational and satisfactory conclusion, by a skilful 
and truthful presentation of the favouring and opposing 
considerations. This is the ideal, but of course persuasion 
often falls short of this ideal; it may degenerate into an 
illegitimate appeal to motives which should have but a small 
influence, if any, in determining the decision — a form of 
pressure which over-bears the reasons which ought to be 
determinative. Or the temptation to adopt the method of 
suggestion may become too strong, and the persuader seek 
to win his point by diverting attention from considerations 
which it would be inconvenient for him to meet by counter- 



SUGGESTION 235 

vailing arguments. But when the resort is made either to 
irrational passion or to suggestive indirection, the high func- 
tion of persuasion is abdicated; and that surely is the true 
function of preaching. The ancient prophet represented 
Jehovah as issuing his broad and open invitation to men in 
these words : " Come now, and let us reason together." 
The great apostle of the Christian epoch uses even more 
emphatic language: "but [we] have renounced the hidden 
things of dishonesty, not walking in craftiness nor handling 
the word of God deceitfully; but by manifestation of the 
truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in 
the sight of God." Again he says, " we persuade men." 
No nobler activity can engage one's mind than the per- 
suasion of men to right action, and the fruition of such 
endeavour is the sweetest and most satisfying to which men 
can attain. Let the preacher, above all men, cultivate a 
scrupulous conscience as to the psychological method which 
he uses; and, guarding against all cheap and false substi- 
tutes, keep himself faithfully to his function and make his 
appeals to the rational nature of men. 

This duty is emphasized by the fact that the conditions 
under which convention requires that preaching usually be 
done render the method of suggestion peculiarly easy. No 
reply, no questioning, no interruption is permitted. 



CHAPTER XI 

ASSEMBLIES 

When a number of persons are assembled the mental 
processes of each are modified, so that his feeling, thinking 
and acting are different from what they would be were he 
alone. Each is more or less conscious of the presence of 
the others, and this consciousness affects in some measure 
his general mental state; this modification of his mental 
state is reflected, however slightly, in his bearing and action, 
and, in turn, reacts upon the mental state of those in his 
presence. There is initiated at once a series of interactions 
between the persons assembled which can not stop until they 
are again dispersed. This class of psychic phenomena is of 
peculiar interest, and increasingly so in this age of dense 
massing of population and of great popular gatherings. 

We may for convenience divide assemblies into several 
classes. The two chief classes we shall distinguish accord- 
ing to the absence or presence of a common purpose in the 
coming together of the people. 

I. There is the purely accidental concourse. A number 
of persons find themselves near to one another by accident, 
as each pursues his individual way. They are there with no 
common purpose, and have no other sort of common interest 
in being there. They have spatial unity, so to speak; they 
are in the same locality at the same time, and perhaps this 
unity is only for the moment. Have they any psychical 
unity ? 

Now, the proposition as to mental interaction was stated 
as universal, but it may fairly be questioned whether it holds 
good as to the accidental concourse. When, for instance 
— to take an extreme case — a number of people, each of 

236 



ASSEMBLIES 237 

whom is bent upon his own separate purpose and going his 
own way, find themselves in juxtaposition on the street, can 
it be claimed with reason that there results a modification 
of the mental life of each? Certainly in such a case the 
interaction is at a minimum ; and yet a little careful intro- 
spection and observation seem to me to show that even 
under such circumstances the thinking of the individual, 
although he be absorbed in his own affairs at the time and 
oblivious of the presence of the others, is not quite the same 
as it would be if he were isolated. It would seem that there 
must be some distraction of the attention, even in the case 
of those most habituated to street life. But this does not 
constitute mental unification. It is probable that there is 
also some more positive subconscious influence resulting 
from the presence of others. This is, however, a matter 
of only theoretical interest and may be passed by. From 
the psychological point of view the matter of chief im- 
portance about such chance assemblies is that they may be so 
easily converted into crowds with a decided mental unity. 
A slight incident may arrest the passing throng on the 
sidewalk and focus the attention of all; and instantly the 
interaction of many minds, even if it were wholly absent 
before, becomes obvious and more or less powerful accord- 
ing to circumstances. A mob may originate in this way, 
when the incident which focuses the attention of the throng 
is of a highly exciting character, especially if it arouses to a 
high intensity some of the more powerful emotions and 
some strong leader is ready with the appropriate sugges- 
tion. 

To the preacher the psychology of the street throng is of 
interest because of the revival of street preaching — a 
method of reaching the masses which has been so effectually 
used by the Salvation Army and is now copied by an in- 
creasing number of Christian workers. Its effectiveness 
consists, first, in the contrast which a religious service and 
appeal offer to the environment of street life, where men are 
usually engaged in the diligent pursuit of material values. 



238 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

The soft, sweet strains of a Christian hymn rising amidst 
the din and roar of traffic is a most effective means of arrest- 
ing the attention; and the appeal to men to turn their 
thought toward the things that transcend time and sense 
often succeeds, by its very strangeness in such surround- 
ings, in awakening a thrill in a heart that would under 
ordinary circumstances be wholly unresponsive. In the 
second place, the voice of the singer or preacher often falls 
upon the ears of a passer-by at "the psychological mo- 
ment " ; for a man is often peculiarly conscious under these 
conditions of the strain and pressure of life, of the sordid- 
ness of materialism, of the mocking vanity of a life of trans- 
gression, of the need of moral cleansing, spiritual consola- 
tion and support. At such moments his mind and heart 
are quite susceptible to the religious appeal. But notwith- 
standing these advantages, street preaching is not easy. 
Only a few are sufficiently interested to be held ; the urge of 
business is upon them. Many stop for a moment and then 
move on, and newcomers are constantly arriving. The 
speaker addresses a moving procession which swarms by a 
little nucleus of interested listeners. It is extremely difficult 
to secure a sufficiently stable group to induce mental unity. 
The diverting and distracting influences are very hard to 
overcome. Something is required which excites powerful 
emotions in order to form a unified psychological group 
under such conditions. 

II. The purposive assembly. In this a group of people 
are brought together by the same purpose. 

Of course, the common purposes which bring crowds of 
people together are very various and of all degrees of im- 
portance. The throng gathered to see or hear the " re- 
turns " after an election ; or to pass through the gates to 
the train at a railway station; or to gaze at an interesting 
exhibit or performance at a " fair " — and many others that 
will occur to the reader — afford profitable opportunities 
for the study of mass psychology ; but may be passed by as 
having little significance for the special interest of this dis- 



ASSEMBLIES 239 

cussion. Under the general class of purposive assemblies 
there are two types which it is specially important for us to 
consider. 

1. The inspirational gathering. I shall use the term, in- 
spirational, rather broadly. I mean by inspirational gather- 
ing the coming together of people for the purpose of being 
stimulated or inspired by appeals to their intellectual or 
emotional nature. It includes, at one extreme, a group as- 
sembled for mere entertainment; and, at the other, a class 
assembled in the lecture room for instruction. But in any 
case the appeal is, with whatever difference of emphasis, to 
both the intellect and the emotions. 

This kind of assembly has three clearly defined marks. 
First, it is physically segregated — usually shut up within 
the walls of a building, though in some cases it meets in the 
open air. This gives it the unity of locality in such a way 
as to emphasize the consciousness of unity. The persons so 
brought together feel their unity all the more from the fact 
that they are separated as a group from other men, i.e., the 
local unity itself develops a certain measure of psychic 
unity. Second, its members have a unity of purpose in 
being present. Often this sense of common purpose in 
being together is only relative and indefinite, and in the case 
of the average church congregation, some of whom are 
present solely, and many partly, from force of habit, other 
motives operate which are only remotely related, if related 
at all, to the purpose which is supposed to have influenced 
them. However, on the whole, such gatherings have a 
certain unity of purpose, loose and indefinite as it may be, 
which constitutes a psychical bond of considerable strength. 
Third, — and this is a very important characteristic which 
differentiates it sharply from other kinds of assemblies — 
its members are there to be entertained or stimulated or 
influenced in some definite way. They may take part, more 
or less, in some of the exercises or proceedings, but pri- 
marily they are drawn thither by the deliberate and con- 
scious purpose of receiving some intellectual or emotional 



24O PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

stimulation. Such an assemblage is the audience at a lec- 
ture, the crowd at a theatre, the congregation at a church. 
In the latter, however ritualistic or informal may be the serv- 
ice and however much or little the people may participate 
in it, their fundamental purpose is to receive religious in- 
spiration, which they expect to come chiefly from the 
leader. This receptive attitude is a very significant factor 
in the psychological situation, an important condition of 
the psychical effects which may be developed. It manifestly 
renders it easier to bring about mental unity or fusion 
than under ordinary conditions. In gatherings of this type 
we may distinguish three stages of mental unity. 

( 1 ) In the primary stage the fusion is low and there is a 
high degree of self-conscious individuality in the members. 
There is, as already indicated, a certain degree of mental 
unity due to the local separateness of the assembly, to the 
similarity of purpose in being present, and to the common 
attitude of receptivity. But this is all. Each person is 
self-centred, and there is little common feeling. The 
critical faculties of each are in the ascendant, and the words 
and acts of the speaker or leader, in so far as they succeed 
in securing attention, are coolly weighed in each auditor's 
mental balances; while the thoughts of those whose atten- 
tion has not been secured are busily engaged with their 
personal interests, or idly drifting according to the laws of 
association, or sinking toward the level of drowsy extinction. 
Perhaps the interest is keen but predominantly intellectual, 
and is thus of a character to accentuate the individuality of 
each and keep the psychic fusion at a minimum. But 
whether there be an exclusively intellectual activity, or an 
anarchic wandering of the attention, or a somnolent relax- 
ation of consciousness, there is little common emotion, very 
little blending of the separate units into a psychical mass 
in which each realizes that his mental reactions coincide 
with those of others. The speaker addressing such a group 
will feel that his words are falling upon critical or indif- 
ferent or sleepy ears. 



ASSEMBLIES 241 

(2) The secondary stage is marked off from the primary 
by no hard and fast lines ; but is characterized by the low- 
ered individuality and the increased mental fusion of the 
personal units composing the assembly. The intellectual 
activity of each is less independent and autonomous, is 
more limited by a common emotional state into which all 
have been brought. Emotion has a very important in- 
fluence upon the activity of the intellect. Up to a certain 
point it stimulates intellectual action, and beyond that point 
hinders it more and more ; but whether stimulating, as in 
itsjower degrees, or inhibitive, as in its higher intensities, 
emotion is always directive of whatever intellectual ac- 
tivities are going on ; because feeling defines, if it does not 
determine, the line of interest, and it is interest which en- 
gages the intellect. Consequently in a gathering in which 
common feeling of considerable strength has been developed 
the individuals are partly blended into a psychical mass in 
which the one pervasive emotion intensifies the conscious- 
ness of unity and orients the intellects of all in a given 
direction. The tendency to individualistic thinking, i.e., 
thinking independent of, or diverse from, that of the as- 
sembly as a whole, is to a large extent inhibited. Mark 
that it is the tendency to diverse thinking that is inhibited ; 
the individual is not conscious of the limitation which is 
upon him. In so far as he is fused with the others he 
simply does not tend to think differently from the mass ; or, 
to state it in different words, to the extent to which his indi- 
viduality has been merged he feels no impulse to assert his 
mental independence. He is not aware that his mental au- 
tonomy is curtailed. 

But in this stage the individuality of the units has not 
wholly disappeared. The fusion is partial only; a measure 
of independence remains to the average person. He is 
more suggestible ; is more thoroughly under the influence 
of the speaker ; he is less able to recollect and utilize all the 
resources of his intellect by bringing them to bear upon what 
is said or proposed. He is less critical, more easily con- 



242 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

vinced and led. But his will has not been paralyzed; his 
action still represents his personality, though not the out- 
come of so thorough and deliberate a consideration of all the 
issues involved. There are many cases in which the indi- 
vidual has become so thoroughly subject to habit, so warped 
in his inclinations, so biased in mental action by long per- 
sistence in certain courses of conduct that he is incapable 
under ordinary conditions of weighing with approximate 
fairness the pros and cons of an issue that involves those 
habits and inclinations. The scales of his judgment are 
loaded; or he sees the better way but is unable to choose 
it when the test comes. The habitual drinker, the sensual 
libertine, the veterans of vice and the victims of bad habits 
in general see the evil of their ways, but have become so 
perverted that the reasons against indulgence are not effec- 
tive with them, but are borne down and smothered by the 
clamorous insistence of appetite, which gives exaggerated 
force to the considerations in favour of indulgence. Fre- 
quently in these sad cases of onesided or perverted develop- 
ment it is the contagion of the crowd, if it does not reach 
the point of excess, which, by acting as an inhibition of these 
vicious inclinations, balances the man up and gives his 
rational nature a better chance to assert itself ; and by the 
aid of this influence he may be able to reach and fortify 
himself in moral decisions which give a new direction to his 
life. 

(3) The third stage of psychic fusion is reached when the 
individuality of the personal units has disappeared ; or per- 
haps we should say, when the only elements of individuality 
left to them are the reflexive and instinctive peculiarities 
of their individual nervous constitutions, and even these 
may be in part suspended. The modifications of their 
emotional natures resulting from their intellectual organ- 
ization have disappeared. The fusion is complete. This is 
the mob state. The individual no longer thinks, reasons, 
chooses. His action does not represent his personality, but 
is simply his reflexive and instinctive reaction under the 



ASSEMBLIES 243 

powerful influence of the crowd-suggestion. He has 
reached a stage which is similar to, though not identical 
with, hypnosis. It should again be noted that he is not 
conscious of the limitation that is upon him; he does not 
realize that the action of his rational faculties is suspended. 
He simply does not differentiate himself in thought from 
the mass. His actions no more represent himself than those 
of the hypnotic subject under the influence of the operator. 
Indeed, his true self is more completely annihilated for the 
time. The hypnotic subject nearly always refuses to obey 
a suggestion which runs counter to his instincts and deep 
moral habits. But in the mob state the personality is so 
completely suspended that a man may be induced to do 
things which are in absolute contradiction to his self-respect 
and his profoundest moral convictions. How often is a 
man thus led to commit murder who would be horrified at 
the suggestion under ordinary circumstances and would re- 
sist it even in the hypnotic trance! Not only ridiculous 
but disgraceful acts are sometimes performed under the 
sway of the crowd-suggestion, the sense of personal de- 
cency being lost in the wholesale collapse of the personality. 
It is doubtless true that when the psychic fusion of the 
crowd reaches its limit, it involves a disintegration of the 
personality more thoroughgoing than can be accomplished 
by any other known means, except certain forms of dis- 
ease. Of course, there is no responsibility, in the ordinary 
sense of the word, for the deed performed under such con- 
ditions. The individuals in such a mass — I speak only of 
the extreme phenomena of this type — are like so many 
leaves in a tornado. They are merely a herd of cattle in a 
panic or a fury — except that there is in each one a tem- 
porarily paralysed rational and voluntary power, which 
may by some means be awakened again into activity. Until 
that is done their action, because of the complexity of the 
forces involved, is more incalculable than the shifting of the 
wind. The mob may not only do deeds that are disgraceful 
or criminal, but also deeds that are chivalrous or heroic. 



244 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

And whether its acts are despicable, horrible or noble de- 
pends upon the character of the emotion which at any time 
may be in the ascendant; and as the emotions are exceed- 
ingly unstable and variable, the mob's performances may 
quickly shift from one extreme of the moral' scale to the 
other; yet, strictly speaking, a mob is not an ethical entity 
and its acts are non-ethical. 

The passing of an assembly into the second and third 
stages of unity may be accurately described as a process of 
inhibiting the intellectual or rational control of conduct, 
which is accomplished by collective suggestion in a state of 
high emotion. But the rational control itself is essentially 
of an inhibitive character. The normal personality con- 
sists, first, of a substratum of inherited nerve co-ordinations, 
reflexive and instinctive; and, second, of a system of habits 
and ideas which are the deposit of personal experience, plus 
a certain inscrutable and indefinable power of choice which 
develops along with the organization of the mind. Now, 
the impulses of the instinctive nature are more or less con- 
trolled by the mental organization which is the result of 
individual experience; and this control is exercised mainly, 
if not exclusively, by the arrest of many of the conflicting 
impulses which originate in the numerous contacts with our 
environment or in our organic sensations. By the stopping 
of some impulses the right of way is given to others, which 
thus pass on into realization as our volitions. In a fused 
mass of men the collective suggestion simply suspends these 
individual inhibitive functions ; and in so far as they are 
suspended, the reflexes and instincts are left exposed to be 
played upon by the external influences of the crowd or 
mob. 

Now, these reflexes and instincts constitute our racial in- 
heritance; they are the parts of our nature in which, not- 
withstanding individual peculiarities, we are most nearly 
identical with our fellow men. They are a common 
patrimony. It is in the mental systems built up in personal 
experience that we are most widely differentiated, and it is 



ASSEMBLIES 245 

by the inter-stimulation of their common instincts and the 
simultaneous suppression or suspension of their unlike in- 
tellectual systems that men are fused into a psychic mass. 

If we should ask whether it is more important to stress 
the common elements in our human nature, to develop in 
men the consciousness of their community of life ; or to 
emphasize their divergent variations, to make them sensible 
of their distinctive individualities, the true answer would 
be that both should be done in about equal proportions. 
We are living under conditions which promote a very high 
differentiation of men, and which at the same time bring 
the population together in increasingly vast and dense com- 
munities and favour and facilitate the assembling of men 
in ever larger masses. A notable phenomenon of urban life 
everywhere is the building of mammoth auditoriums for the 
gathering of people in great numbers ; and there is a tend- 
ency to the enlargement of lecture halls, theatres and 
churches. These frequent large aggregations of people, in 
which, as we shall see, collective suggestion is greater and 
the units are more readily fused than in smaller ones, con- 
stitute one of the most effective means of developing and 
strengthening the consciousness of the unity of men in an 
age of high specialization of individuals and groups ; if only 
the process of psychic fusion can be kept from going to the 
excess which effaces the sense of individual responsibility, 
disintegrates and weakens personality, and results in hurtful 
collective action. 

The first stage of mental unity of the assembly is best 
suited to instruction. The class in the lecture room has this 
degree of unity. A certain measure of common feeling is 
desirable as a means of intellectual quickening, but the 
development of the feeling beyond a low intensity should 
be avoided. Wherever the didactic purpose is the con- 
trolling one in bringing people together, care should be 
taken to keep the assembly in the primary stage of fusion. 
When the purpose is inspiration rather than instruction, 
aiming not at the impartation of ideas or their correlation, 



246 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

but at the organization of emotional dispositions around cer- 
tain ideas, the development and strengthening of common 
ideals and sentiments, the secondary stage of fusion is 
desirable. Suppose, for instance, that the preacher desires 
to teach his congregation, to enlarge and improve their con- 
ception of God. This can not be done by developing a tide 
of emotion which puts limitations upon the actions of the 
individual intellects and leads to the uncritical acceptance 
of the ideas he imparts. The method should be an appeal 
to their individual rational powers with the aim of produc- 
ing conviction. On the other hand, suppose it is his desire 
to cultivate the sentiment of loyalty to Christ; then he 
should strive to develop in connection with their inellectual 
conception of Christ the appropriate feeling of devotion to 
him — to organize in the minds of his auditors a fixed cor- 
relation of certain emotions with their idea of his character; 
and this involves, of course, strong and repeated stimulation 
of the affective side of their natures. But if the emotional 
tide runs so high as to submerge the intellectual life and 
drown all definite ideas in its flood, the second purpose as 
well as the first is wholly defeated. No sentiment is then 
developed, no ideal is established, but only a thirst is created 
for wild and senseless emotional intoxication which is dis- 
organizing and debilitating in its effects upon personality. 
The third stage of psychic fusion should, therefore, always 
be avoided. 

But our division of the process of fusion into three stages 
is a logical one and does not correspond to the reality, except 
in a general way. As a matter of fact, while these three 
stages are in a general way distinguishable, the assembly 
does not pass as a whole from one into the other. There 
are in it persons of various degrees of suggestibility. Those 
of the greatest suggestibility are the first to suffer the arrest 
of the intellectual processes and lose their individuality, 
while those who are least suggestible maintain their mental 
autonomy until the extreme limit of emotional excitement 
is reached. Children, women (as a rule), persons of limited 



ASSEMBLIES 247 

experience or of loose mental organization are apt to fall 
first wholly under the spell of the crowd-suggestion ; but as 
the tide rises others, according to the measure of their in- 
experience or of the instability of their mental organization, 
succumb to its prevailing power. It is like cutting the 
dykes and flooding a region. First the low lands, then the 
plains, then the up-lands are submerged by the rising waters, 
until only the higher hills stand out above the waves. It 
is this fact of greatly unequal suggestibility which consti- 
tutes a grave problem for the leader of the assembly when 
it seems desirable to develop a considerable degree of emo- 
tional fusion. That which is necessary to stimulate in some 
members of the congregation a proper sense of their com- 
munity of life with their fellows may prove too powerful a 
stimulation of others ; so that while the leader is accom- 
plishing good results in one direction he is doing harm in 
another. In dealing with this aspect of the matter the 
highest judgment and skill should be exercised by those who 
are responsible. Especially does this apply to the preacher. 
In order to awaken the consciences of some and create in 
them a thrill of spiritual affection, the children, the weaker 
women, and the ill-balanced men may be led into demonstra- 
tions which are not only meaningless but permanently hurt- 
ful. Discriminating wisdom and a thorough understanding 
of psychological laws are needed by men who are making 
religious appeals to promiscuous assemblies. 

Doubtless nobody can maintain himself wholly inde- 
pendent of the contagion of the crowd. But the strong 
personalities of the resistant or aggressive type can in some 
measure retain their self-possession even in extreme sit- 
uations. Such strong personalities may even prevail against 
the contagion and break the spell which threatens to swamp 
the individualities of all. If there be several such persons 
in the crowd their natural impulse will be to get together, 
so that they may reinforce one another in their common 
resistance and form a more effective breakwater against the 
tidal wave. In doing this, however, they will inevitably 



248 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

develop a considerable measure of mental unity among 
themselves, so as to act concertedly; their reaction against 
the contagious influence forces them, to some extent, into 
psychical fusion with one another. They are much more 
able to stem the general tide when close together and acting 
as a unit than when scattered throughout the crowd as iso- 
lated centres of resistance. It is another case " of united 
we stand, divided we fall." But if there is a considerable 
number of such persons, and they come together so as to 
form a distinct group, there is always danger that the as- 
sembly will develop into two opposing groups, each of which 
will be under the sway of the mob-mind — forming a sort 
of double-headed mob. This not unfrequently happens, and 
then it is that irrational violence reaches, perhaps, its 
maximum. On the other hand, if such persons remain 
scattered throughout the crowd and from several centres 
undertake to resist the contagion and break up the unity 
by interruptions and counter-demonstrations of any sort, 
the situation is likely to become one of extreme agitation; 
the intellectual process will be inhibited in all, partially if 
not wholly; but the only emotion which will be dominant 
will be confused excitement, and there will be what may 
be called a chaotic crowd. In such a situation one part 
of the fusion process takes place — the inhibition of the 
rational process. All individualities are reduced to a com- 
mon denominator, but that is only a powerful, though vague, 
agitation caused by psychical cross-currents ; and in no other 
sense does mental unification take place. 

We should turn now to consider the means and methods 
by which the process of fusion may be promoted. 

The first is the close crowding of the people. Bodily 
proximity of a group of persons renders the passing of in- 
fluences from one to another much more rapid and easy. 
Slight movements, subtile and fleeting changes of counte- 
nance are more readily observed, and the ideas and feelings 
of which they are the expression are more surely and 
rapidly communicated. Wide separation tends to produce 



ASSEMBLIES 249 

mental isolation and the peculiarities of the mental indi- 
viduality become relatively more prominent. The equal- 
izing and levelling effect of the interaction of the individuals 
is reduced about in proportion to the distances which sep- 
arate them. When they are thinly scattered about the place 
of assembly it is more difficult to focus their attention upon 
the same idea or to start a general current of feeling. 

We should guard carefully against the fallacious notion 
that there passes from one to another and envelops the 
whole crowd a subtile fluid or ethereal substance. We are 
prone to interpret the facts in such materialistic terms. 
There is not the slightest reason to believe that anything of 
the kind takes place. Let us also put a question mark after 
another notion which, though plausible, is equally unsup T 
ported by facts. It has been maintained that in the fusing 
of individuals into a crowd there comes into existence, by a 
process of " creative synthesis/' a new psychical entity, a 
" social mind." l But there is no convincing reason for 
supposing that anything more takes place than the modifica- 
tion and common orientation of many distinct minds through 
their reaction on one another. What we know takes place 
is the communication of ideas, feelings, mental attitudes by 
means of their physical expression, which we instinctively, 
or by habitual skill, read with lightning-like rapidity, and 
which modifies the activity of each communicating mind. 

The crowding of people promotes the fusion in other ways. 
The bodily movements of all are thus limited. They can 
not shift their positions, change their physical attitudes, 
turn about, stretch out their limbs, etc. This has the effect 
of lessening their sense of individuality in two ways. First, 
the similarity of their bodily attitudes, together with their 
inability to vary them without difficulty, reacts upon their 
mental states, tending to give them unity of mental attitude. 
Second, the physical restraint tends to depress the self-feel- 
ing. Sidis says : " If anything gives us a strong sense of 

1 See Boodin on " The Existence of Social Minds," American 
Journal of Sociology, July, 1913. 



250 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

our individuality it is surely our voluntary movements. 
. . . Conversely the life of the individual self sinks, 
shrinks with the decrease of variety and intensity of volun- 
tary movements." 1 Ross, quoting the foregoing words, 
adds : " Often a furious, naughty child will suddenly be- 
come meek and obedient after being held a moment as in a 
vise. On the play-ground a saucy boy will abruptly sur- 
render and ' take it back ' when held firmly on the ground 
without power to move hand or foot. The cause is not fear 
but deflation of the ego." 2 Crowding, then, appears to 
promote the spread of ideas and feelings, the bringing of all 
individuals to a common state of mind, and, at the same time, 
the lowering of the self -feeling or the sense of individuality ; 
and is thus one of the chief means of merging many sepa- 
rate and differentiated personalities into one psychical mass. 
A second important means of accomplishing the same re- 
sult is concerted bodily movement. Just as the necessity 
of keeping the body in the same attitude or position by 
reason of close crowding has the tendency to induce mental 
unity in a group, so does the performance of the same act at 
the same time by all the persons present. If all stand or leap 
or shout or kneel or hold up the right hand or bend for- 
ward or sing or repeat a formula, or do anything else 
which may occur to the leader, it develops a consciousness 
of oneness and breaks up the personal isolation in which the 
sense of individuality is at a maximum. One reason why 
the prevention of bodily movements by crowding furthers 
the fusion process is that persons widely separated in a 
gathering will move individually without respect to the 
movements of others, and this keeps alive the sense of indi- 
viduality, whereas the same movements, if performed by all, 
would have the opposite tendency. An expert leader, when 
he is seeking to develop mental unity and solidarity in an 
assembly, will always insist upon " all joining in" whatever 
concerted action he proposes. If some refuse to participate 

1 " Psychology of Suggestion," p. 289. 
2 "Social Psychology," p. 44- 



ASSEMBLIES 25 1 

it manifestly obstructs the unifying process, while if all 
take part the unifying effect is very great. 

It is upon this one means of inducing mental unity that 
ritualistic bodies, whether churches or lodges, chiefly rely; 
but, although its whole tendency is in that direction, the 
ritualistic method is not so well adapted to produce intense 
effects as the non-ritualistic. And the reason doubtless is 
that the formulae and concerted actions required by the 
rituals are not, as a rule, such as to stir intense emotions, 
and that their frequent repetition takes off the keen edge of 
the feelings which they do excite. In non-ritualistic bodies 
concerted action is used more effectively as a means of 
fusion because prescribed formulae are not employed, and 
the common movements suggested in informal exercises are 
not fixed and habitual, but, being unusual or at least infre- 
quent, are more stimulating to the emotions. When used 
in connection with other means to the same end they gener- 
ally secure a more complete submergence of the individuality 
than ever occurs in ritualistic observances. Hence the 
phenomena of psychical fusion are observed much more 
frequently and are much more striking in bodies which use 
a minimum of prescribed ritual. In fact the ritual, by rea- 
son of its habitual or customary character, tends to prevent 
more than a moderate degree of mental fusion. 

Singing, especially if it is congregational, is a quite effec- 
tive means of melting the assembled individuals into a 
psychical mass. Its effectiveness lies both in the fact that 
it is concerted action and in its power as a stimulus of the 
emotions. By reason of its rhythmical quality it is one 
of the most natural expressions of the feelings, and con- 
versely, one of the most unfailing means of arousing feel- 
ing. This is true even when the music is devoid of idea- 
tional content. The rhythmical sounds alone develop 
corresponding effects, according to their length and com- 
bination. " A short musical unit tends to light, vivacious, 
or joyful effects, irrespective of the rapidity of succession 
of notes or of the melodic intervals employed. A unit 



252 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

which " draws out " the specious present [i.e., the span of 
consciousness] slightly beyond the normal length produces 
a sombre effect. A still longer unit which is divided between 
two not long spans of consciousness, gives an effect which 
is solemn but not sad." 1 But in all songs there are ideas 
which are organized with appropriate emotions into definite 
sentiments, and which greatly contribute to the emotional 
effect when the music is suitable. There is, therefore, no 
surer and easier way to develop mental contagion than to 
have a gathering of people join in singing. But for this 
purpose much depends upon the character of the music and 
the ideas of the song. The rhythm of the music must 
correspond to the rhythm of the simpler feelings, and the 
ideas must be correspondingly simple. " In music of the so- 
called intellectual sort there is no regular relation between 
the musical unit and the span of consciousness ; the unity 
here is intentionally ideational and does not appeal to the 
average hearer." 2 In such music the emphasis is placed 
upon the intellectual processes of appreciation, and this 
tends to prevent complete fusion. Who has not observed 
the difference between the hymns and tunes used in Sunday 
Schools and evangelistic meetings, on the one hand, and 
those used in "regular churches services," on the other? 
In a word, to be most effective in producing fusion the sing- 
ing must be such as strongly stimulates those elements of our 
mental life which we have in common with our fellow men 
rather than those elements in which we are most highly 
differentiated. Since children and youths are undeveloped 
men and women, they represent that which is most generic 
in human nature; and that is the reason why songs of the 
same general type are best adapted to use in the Sunday 
School, in evangelistic meetings and in all gatherings where 
a high degree of mental unity is sought for. It is hardly 
possible to overestimate the value of our patriotic songs, 
our ballads which are expressions of the more universal sen- 
1 Dunlap, " A System of Psychology," p. 312. 2 Ibid., p. 313. 



ASSEMBLIES 253 

timents of love and longing and our more popular religious 
hymns, as means of developing and maintaining a sense of 
community of life with our fellow men. 

Mental fusion may also be promoted by imaginative, pas- 
sionate oratory. If a speaker has intense feeling himself, 
is gifted with the power of conveying his ideas and emo- 
tions by means of concrete and vivid images and dramatic 
action, it is often possible for him without the aid of other 
means, and sometimes even when other influences are 
adverse, to convert a cold and critical audience into a highly 
fused and suggestible crowd. Doubtless there is not on 
record a more signal demonstration of the power of sheer 
oratory to overcome psychological difficulties than the 
triumph of Henry Ward Beecher in England in 1863. In 
his defence of the policy of the North in the great Civil 
War, he faced every time a coldly critical and largely hostile 
gathering of Britishers. He was interrupted from the be- 
ginning by questions, taunts, insults, rotten eggs and all 
those intimidating methods in which British audiences excel. 
As, despite those violent attempts to silence him, his mag- 
nificent patience, self-possession and good humour, rein- 
forced by a matchless imaginative and histrionic power, won 
over sections of the throng, the desperation of his opponents 
increased ; and they redoubled their efforts to break up the 
mental unity which they felt to be growing, but without 
avail ; and always in the end he remained master, though 
his mastery was not always equally complete. He had only 
one condition in his favour — the close crowding of his 
audiences. Of course, when all other conditions are fa- 
vourable, the task of the orator is comparatively easy. For 
example, when Mr. Bryan made his remarkable address at 
the National Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1896, 
nearly all the psychological conditions were in his favour. 
There was, to be sure, an opposing group in the convention, 
but they were in a decided minority; and the debate which 
his address concluded had stirred intense feeling. He was 
the magnetic and eloquent voice of the majority; his sen- 



254 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tences, made rhythmical by his own emotion, and the mas- 
terly use he made of imagery which associated his cause 
with some of the deepest and most powerful sentiments of 
our human hearts, developed a tide of emotion which set 
the convention wild (perhaps literally) and overwhelmed 
his oppenents. 1 

We should turn now to a consideration of the kinds of 
emotion which are most effective in welding heterogeneous 
individuals into a homogeneous crowd. These are to be 
found among the emotions which are embedded most deeply 
in the instincts of human nature. When aroused they are 
the most powerful, the most pervasively contagious and the 
most difficult to control. 

First, we may consider fear, which in the psychology 
books is generally mentioned as the first of the simple emo- 
tions. How powerful it is, how completely in its intense 
developments it paralyses reason, how thoroughly sug- 
gestible it renders its subject — or victim — needs no dem- 
onstration or illustration. Every man's experience fur- 
nishes numerous examples of its power to upset the rational 
processes. When a group of people are seized by this emo- 
tion and it is intensified by reflection from face to face, or 
by screams and shrieks, it quickly overwhelms reason and 
conscience, and all other emotions as well, in its turbid flood ; 
and men are converted into maddened beasts, each of whom 
seeks only his own safety. While, therefore, it annihilates 
the higher individualizing factors of the several personalities 
and fuses them in the sense that they are all reduced to a 
like mental state which is intensified by reflection from one 
to another, it desocializes them, so to speak; it deadens the 
social instincts of each and so has a certain disintegrating 
effect. This is especially notable in panics. It reduces the 
individuals to a common denominator, but that common de- 
nominator is an impulse to take care of self without regard 
to others. There is no emotion which, when it gains ex- 
clusive sway, is so absolutely demoralizing. And yet when 

1 See Scott's " Psychology of Public Speaking," pp. 165-6. 



ASSEMBLIES 255 

it is refined and moralized, kept under the control of intel- 
ligence and conscience, it becomes a worthy motive. When 
dominated by conscience, blended with love and transfigured 
into reverence, it becomes one of our noblest sentiments. 
In this regenerated form it retains, though in a much lower 
degree, its fusing power and may be most properly used 
by the orator or preacher. But in its baser form of physi- 
cal fear it should never be appealed to by one who aims at 
spiritual results. 

Another emotion which is most effective in welding a 
crowd is anger. This is one of the most powerful emotions, 
and all normal persons are capable of it, although there are 
great variations in the development of the pugnacious in- 
stinct among men. When a common hostile feeling against 
any object is aroused in a group of persons, its power to 
unify and blend them is unsurpassed. The heat of the 
anger which envelops them all melts them into conscious 
oneness, and the conscious unity is considerably strength- 
ened by the sense of conflict with the person or persons 
against whom the hostility is directed; for conflict with an 
outside enemy is a very efficacious means of unifying the 
members of a group. This is the emotion that usually 
sways a moj). Elsewhere we have pointed out how it may 
convulse a whole neighbourhood, or section, or nation, in- 
stantly quieting or suspending all internal antagonisms, and 
solidifying all interests. Here we consider it only as it de- 
velops and manifests itself in an assembled multitude. It 
is so easily aroused, is so intensified by reflection back and 
forth between individuals, and so quickly overwhelms reason 
that only extreme situations will justify appeals to it. 
There is always great danger of inducing the mob-state, if 
not mob-action. But while its crude form is always de- 
moralizing and the orator, especially the preacher, should 
rarely or never make an appeal to it, it may, nevertheless, 
like fear, be redeemed and transformed by being moralized, 
and thus converted into one of the noblest, most healthful 
and valuable of all human feelings — indignation ; and thus 



256 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

by continual association with our ethical principles may be 
organized into a sentiment of hatred, not for men, but for 
all conduct that is low and selfish. The development of this 
sentiment is one of the great tasks of the preacher. Even 
in this higher form the emotion of anger is a potent means of 
fusing a crowd ; and the ability to stir the moral indignation 
of an audience has been a chief element of power of many 
great orators, and should be cultivated by all preachers. 

What writers on psychology call " the tender emotion " 
is another which is powerful as a means of melting an as- 
sembly of heterogeneous individuals into a homogeneous 
psychical mass. The forms in which it is most serviceable 
to the orator are the love of parents for their children, the 
love of children for their mothers (the love for fathers tak- 
ing rather the form of reverence), the love of men and 
women for little children, and the compassion which all 
normal people feel for the unfortunate, the weak and the 
helpless victims of injustice. In a general way the order of 
mention indicates the order in which forms of the tender 
emotion have historically developed in power. It is prob- 
able that the last three have only in comparatively recent 
times attained to approximate universality as powerful 
sentiments, though now one can rarely be found who is not 
susceptible to these appeals. Such appeals may, of course, 
be overdone, but they rarely produce unhealthy psychological 
efTects. Persons of weak intellectual organization may 
easily be overcome and thrown into a mental state from 
which no rational action can be expected. This, it is to be 
feared, not un frequently happens in " high pressure " evan- 
gelistic services, when the danger of failing to meet one's 
mother in heaven is urged too strongly as a motive for con- 
secrating oneself to Christian service. But in general these 
sentiments are so pure, so free from intermixture with the 
grosser passions of our nature, that they rarely produce 
excessive or demoralizing effects. They always tend to in- 
cite men to courses of action which they believe to be 
good ; and when the appeal to them is overdone, the cor- 



ASSEMBLIES 257 

rection is usually found in the disgust which it excites in the 
minds of all normal people. The orator whose motives are 
pure but whose judgment is not discriminating, may, of 
course, make an unfortunate use of this emotion, but it can- 
not be used as a means of promoting a cause that is mani- 
festly bad. If the preacher fails to make an extensive 
(though, of course, discriminating) use of it, he will cer- 
tainly not only fail on many occasions " to carry his au- 
dience with him," but will also fail to do what he might in 
the ethical education of the people. 

The sentiment of liberty, which has its basis in the in- 
stinct of self-assertion, or the self-asserting disposition, is 
of increasing importance in modern life as a social force; 
and when skilfully appealed to is capable of producing 
strong emotional effects. The fundamental trend in society 
is toward democracy, which in the last analysis has its 
genesis in the individualizing tendency of the social process. 
It can not be finally resisted, and can be retarded only 
by slowing down the social process, which normally becomes 
more dynamic all the time ; and hence the sentiment of liberty 
continually grows more powerful. The conception of liberty 
is modified from epoch to epoch ; but the modifications 
are in the direction of increasing depth and breath. Men do 
not crave less liberty but more ; though, on the whole, their 
idea of it is less confused with license and more consistent 
with stable social order, in which alone it can be realized. 
The emotion, therefore, which may be evoked by a skilful 
appeal to this sentiment will always be strong, and powerful 
as a means of fusing an audience ; but will not lend itself so 
readily to the development of the mob-mind. When the 
conception of liberty is chiefly negative, the appeal to this 
sentiment in its crude stage is apt to produce excesses, be- 
cause it awakens the impulse to unregulated self-indulgence 
and arouses anger at the social forces which limit one's in- 
dividual action — unchaining emotions that are primal, 
basal, crude and undisciplined. This is the true psychology 
of the French Revolution and of similar, though less in- 



258 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

tense, social convulsions in other lands. When the concep- 
tion of liberty is positive, men may be deeply stirred by 
appeals to their desire for self-realization; but in this case 
the sentiment is more highly developed, and the emotions 
called forth are of a higher order, more ethical and amenable 
to rational considerations. As the impulse to unregulated 
living has been replaced by the desire for self-realization, 
so the emotion evoked by appeal to this sentiment has been 
transformed into moral enthusiasm. In religion the pas- 
sion for liberty grows stronger every day; but it does not 
seek satisfaction so much as formerly by blatant denial of 
religious verities and the contemptuous ridicule of the re- 
ligious sentiments so characteristic of the " infidels " of the 
last, and especially of the eighteenth, century. On the con- 
trary, it is more and more clearly perceived that true re- 
ligious liberty is found in the interpretation of the universe 
as religious and the voluntary acceptance of the law of God 
as supreme. The appeal to this sentiment by the preacher 
receives a deep emotional response which is rationally con- 
trolled and profoundly ethical. 

I shall mention but one more of the emotional dispositions 
which are available to the orator as specially efficacious 
means of unifying and mastering an audience. That is the 
sentiment of conservatism or attachment to that which is 
old. It has its base in the conservative disposition, which 
was once nearly all-powerful. But the rapidly changing 
conditions of modern life have greatly weakened it, and 
must weaken it yet more. Indeed, our life has become so 
varied and changeful that some people are in danger of fall- 
ing victims to the passion for novelty. The stimulation of 
change has become a habit with them and forms the basis 
of a craving for the continual repetition of the sensation 
which the unexpected produces. That is the only sort of 
repetition which they will endure. But notwithstanding this 
tendency, the attachment to the old and the customary still 
retains a strangely potent sway over the average human 
mind. Through long ages the monotonous conditions of 



ASSEMBLIES 259 

life and the consequent persistence of modes of life from 
generation to generation have wrought into the very struc- 
ture of the human mind a regard for old things as old which 
probably can never be wholly eliminated, and which doubt- 
less it would not be wise to eradicate entirely. But with 
most men it is so deeply ingrained and so thoroughly dom- 
inating that an adroit appeal to it has always been able to 
evoke an emotion which paralyses reason, drowns the voice 
of conscience, obstructs human progress and makes martyrs 
of the beneficent innovators of the race. It has been power- 
ful in all spheres of life, in one, perhaps, as much as in 
another ; but in no sphere certainly has it been more freely 
utilized than in religion as a means of converting reasonable 
people into mobs and hurling them in furious masses against 
men who dared to question the truth and sacredness of tra- 
ditional dogmas and practices. By it have all the prophets 
been slain — ■ and the cry which it has always inspired is 
" the prophets are dead." 

Now, the passion for the new as such is not sufficiently 
developed in a sufficiently large number of people to make it 
effective as a means of crowd- fusion, except under very ex- 
traordinary circumstances, if ever. It may, indeed, become 
a passion and render one irrationally intolerant of the old; 
but the new always appeals to curiosity and awakens intel- 
ligence, in some measure at least, and for that reason is not 
adapted to the development of the mob-mind. But as a pas- 
sion it renders one irrational in his dislike of the old, and 
should never be appealed to by an orator whose motives are 
good. On the other hand, the passion for the old as such 
is so strong in such a large proportion of the people and is 
so violent when inflamed, that the conscientious orator — 
and especially the preacher — should never put the lighted 
torch of eloquence to that magazine of explosive emotion. 
Such an appeal is non-rational and should never be made. 
It is often easy enough to convert an audience into a mob 
by such an appeal skilfully made ; but the use of it at once 
raises the suspicion either of sinister design which is not 



260 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

scrupulous as to method, or of desperation, born of con- 
scious inability to carry one's point by the appeal to reason. 

In the light of the foregoing discussion a question of very 
great importance demands an answer: Is the process of 
psychic fusion conducive to genuine religious experience? 
A categorical and unqualified answer can not be given with- 
out conflict with the facts. High pressure revivals do result 
in the improvement of the lives of some persons ; but it is 
quite certain that they result in an equally permanent de- 
moralization and spiritual depreciation of other lives — just 
as we should expect. Not a few people have become so 
utterly perverted in the moral habits contracted in their in- 
dividual experience, and so abnormally subject to grossly 
evil impulses, that a powerful counter-stimulation of their 
emotional nature is necessary in order that better impulses 
may have any chance at all to influence their choices. But, 
of course, there is always danger, when this counter-stimula- 
tion is applied through the collective emotion of the crowd, 
that the reason of the person in question, as well as that of 
others, will be so paralysed that the resulting action will 
not represent choice at all; and then there is every reason 
to believe that the effect upon character is demoralizing, and 
only demoralizing. The moral pervert returns to his wal- 
lowing in the mire, and his last state is worse than the first ; 
and meanwhile others who are more normal and who are 
swept by the same tide of irrational emotion into false pro- 
fessions and relations are religiously " queered " for the rest 
of their lives. It is probable, however, that a moderate de- 
gree of emotional fusion is usually helpful in religious expe- 
rience. It is quite possible that men in their individual 
experience have acquired habits or inclinations which, in 
part, render them inaccessible to spiritual influences. In 
other words, there may be wrought into the elements that 
differentiate them from others dispositions or tendencies 
which render them unresponsive to the spiritual call. It 
would seem, then, that the fusion process by which the 
differential elements of their personalities are reduced in 



ASSEMBLIES 26l 

strength might, if not carried to an excess which obliterates 
their reason, render them to some extent more open to divine 
influences. We have stated it as a possibility, but can it not 
be safely asserted as a universal fact that each man does 
acquire in individual experience some peculiar attitude of 
mind, or mode of thought, or point of view — a mental trait 
of some kind or other — which forms an obstruction to the 
forces of moral regeneration? If this be true — and it is en- 
tirely consonant with the teaching of psychology — the con- 
clusion is that a moderate degree of mental fusion is nor- 
mally conducive to genuine religious experience, especially 
in the case of adults. 

2. Something should be said in conclusion about the de- 
liberative body. Manifestly this is an assembly of a distinct 
psychological type. It is at the farthest possible remove 
from the accidental concourse; and the individuals compos- 
ing it are drawn together for the definite purpose, not of 
receiving some intellectual or emotional stimulation, but of 
taking part in discussion and contributing each his part to- 
ward a collective decision of certain issues. This gives 
them a special attitude of mind, which largely determines 
the character of the mental processes of the body. So long 
as this attitude is maintained the suggestibility of each is 
reduced to a minimum; his critical faculties are in the as- 
cendant. But how shall this attitude be preserved ? 

(1) In the first place it is much easier to maintain the 
deliberative attitude if the assembly is a small one. The 
reasons are obvious. The greater the number of persons 
between whom a common feeling is reflected back and forth, 
the more intense becomes the emotion. A dozen people who 
read in each other's faces the same impulse or sentiment 
will each be proportionately affected; if a thousand people 
see the same feeling reflected in each other's countenances, 
each is again proportionately afTeeted, though one qualifying 
condition must be taken into account, viz., that each will 
be more powerfully affected by those near him than by those 
more distant, because he discerns more clearly the bodily 



262 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

expressions of their mental states and hence receives a more 
definite and powerful stimulation from them. After an 
assembly passes a certain magnitude it no longer increases 
in general suggestibility strictly in proportion to its size; 
but up to a certain point it does approximately. Again, in 
a large assembly the people are more likely to be closely 
seated, and the effect of physical crowding, as before noted, 
is to facilitate the rapid spread of common feeling in full 
power in all directions. Furthermore, the speaker who ad- 
dresses a large gathering must use higher tones of voice and 
will normally make more vigorous gestures, from the natural 
desire to be adequately seen and heard. But the more 
elevated tones and the freer gesticulatory movements natu- 
rally excite stronger feelings in the audience and react upon 
the speaker's own mind to intensify his emotion, which in 
turn is communicated to his hearers. 

The assembly, then, when it becomes very large is almost 
certain to lose its deliberative character, wholly or in part; 
and to assume the character of a mass-meeting which is sub- 
ject to the spell of a few orators who have exceptional 
voices, and to be swept by gusts of intense, pervasive emo- 
tion. As a result it is customary for the real deliberations 
of such a body to take place in committee rooms ; and the 
decisions reached in these small groups are reported to the 
assembly and advocated by persuasive orators, who usually 
secure their ratification. A very potent argument often 
presented in favour of such a committee report is that the 
committee has had amply opportunity to think the whole 
subject through from every point of view — a tacit confes- 
sion that the psychological situation renders it impracticable 
for the assembly as a whole to do so. Since the trend in re- 
cent times is toward large assemblies of the deliberative type, 
as of others, the tendency, as might be expected, is toward 
the formulation in committee rooms of the deliverances of 
such bodies. If, therefore, these assemblies are to be what 
their name indicates, if the fusion process which increases 
suggestibility and renders careful thought difficult or im- 



ASSEMBLIES 263 

possible is to be avoided, the bodies should be kept small; 
otherwise the deliberation will have to be done exclusively 
by committees, while the assembly is turned into a mere 
ratification mass-meeting. 

(2) But the deliberative assembly, even when small, needs 
special safeguards against the tendency to fusion. These 
special safeguards are found in the rules of parliamentary 
practice — rigid conventional methods of procedure espe- 
cially fashioned to hold individual as well as collective im- 
pulses in check and to give free play to the rational processes. 
When, however, the emotions are powerfully stimulated 
these artificial devices for restraint snap like weak cords; 
and the president, together with the rest of the assembly, is 
swept along in the irresistible current. Or if the body de- 
generates into a double-headed mob or into a chaotic crowd, 
the gentleman who holds the gavel may " lose his head/' i.e., 
his intellectual processes may be inhibited, and, being caught 
in the cross-currents of emotion, he may be tossed about like 
a cork on the choppy waves. 

If, however, the assembly avoids the emotional storms 
and maintains the calmness of dispassionate thought, the ef- 
fect of rational discussion will be to modify the thinking 
of each individual; and so there will appear most likely a 
distinct tendency toward unity of thought. This is implied 
in the very function of such a body, which is to reach and 
render a collective decision. The stronger minds, while 
being more or less modified in their positions, will be able to 
lead the weaker ones and thus chiefly determine the evolu- 
tion of the collective conclusion. Usually the discussion will 
result in the cleavage of the assembly into two or more par- 
ties around two or more leaders, or groups of leaders; in 
which case the two processes of unification and division go 
on at the same time. But unless the whole process is to end 
in a deadlock, the unification must proceed until a majority 
of the members have been brought to substantial agreement. 
The intellectual unity, or unity of conviction, results from 
the give and take of debate and is an organization of many 



5264 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

varied and at first conflicting opinions; and is an entirely 
different sort of thing from the unity which is induced by the 
inhibition of free rational processes and the emotional 
fusion of individuals. 

It is true, however, that the method of reaching collective 
or group decisions is undergoing a profound change. That 
change is the result of the enormous development of inter- 
communication. Now-a-days the discussion of questions in 
which a large body of people are interested is carried on in 
the press, and the people reach their conclusions on the basis 
of their reading, supplemented by correspondence and pri- 
vate conversation, for which the increasingly numerous per- 
sonal contacts of modern life afford a large opportunity. 
The result is that the deliberative assembly, so-called, is com- 
ing to be less and less an organ of collective discussion and 
deliberation, and more and more a means of simply register- 
ing the decisions of the group. At the same time it is not- 
able that the deliverances of such assemblies no longer im- 
press the people with the sense of authority and finality, 
as they did in the days in which they were, far more than 
they now are, the organs through which the public made up 
its mind. The tendency is to bring such bodies more di- 
rectly under the control of public opinion — to revise, criti- 
cise and perhaps nullify their acts more freely in the larger 
forum of the press, in which the people are assembled not in 
body but in mind. It is a singular paradox that along with 
the vast growth and complication of social organization the 
direct control by the people of their affairs is growing at 
the expense of the indirect method. Legislative and quasi- 
legislative bodies of every description, in all spheres of life, 
are compelled to act more and more as the mere registering 
organs of the public will and to refer their acts back to the 
people for their approval or disapproval. 



CHAPTER XII 

MENTAL EPIDEMICS 

The term " epidemic " has been so closely associated with 
morbid phenomena of a certain type that one hesitates to use 
it to designate the class of mental experiences here to be 
discussed. But the lack of a better word will justify its use. 

A mental epidemic is the sweep of a common emotional 
excitement over a whole social group. The group may be a 
neighbourhood, a city, a nation, a party, a sect, a class, a sex, 
or any other well denned and relatively permanent segment 
of the population which has some common interest and some 
means of frequent intercommunication. Through such a 
group are all the time flowing mental currents which main- 
tain its unity of thought and feeling and its collective indi- 
viduality. Without such a constant flow of ideas and senti- 
ments the group would disintegrate, just as the physical or- 
ganism would decompose if the circulation of the blood were 
to stop. However, the term mental epidemic is not applied 
to the regular processes by which mental unity is maintained, 
but only to those waves of emotion which give the people a 
more intensive unity than the ordinary. 

There are two broad classes of mental epidemics between 
which the distinction should be emphasized. As in a crowd 
the fusion may be more or less complete, and injurious or 
healthy accordingly, so the mental unity induced in the 
larger group may be only what is necessary to insure con- 
certed and vigorous action under the control of intelligence; 
or it may become so passionate, so overwhelming in emo- 
tional intensity, as to be demoralizing even when the excite- 
ment centres about some unobjectionable or really important 
interest. To the more intense forms of such excitement the 
terms, " popular mania " or " craze," should be applied. It 

265 



266 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

is, of course, impossible to draw a hard and fast line be- 
tween normal and abnormal phenomena of this type ; but the 
distinction is nevertheless one of great practical importance, 
for in general it coincides with the distinction between 
healthy and unhealthy group action. 

The phenomena to which the term, "popular mania," is 
applied are common emotional states which are intense 
enough to stop in large measure, if not wholly, the rational 
processes. The people become " wild." The reader who 
lived in a certain section of the South during the epoch of 
the land booms along in the eighties of the last century can 
recall typical experiences of this kind. A land company 
would be organized and, by advertisement far and wide, 
would " boom " a village or town as destined in a short time 
to become a great city. The enthusiasm would spread with 
astonishing rapidity. Conservative, cool-headed sceptics, 
who could see no real basis for such extravagant expecta- 
tions, were ridiculed as old fogies, or denounced as " kick- 
ers " who were indifferent or unfriendly to the interests of 
the community. Streets were opened through old fields or 
thick forests — traces of some of them remaining to this 
day as visible relics of the craze of a third of a century ago. 
Building lots were sold at high figures over areas large 
enough to contain the population of a metropolis; and the 
purchasers saw fortunes in these investments. In a little 
while the crest of the wave of excitement passed; the 
shrewder ones began to unload. Scepticism spread rapidly, 
and one by one the boom bubbles burst, leaving many people 
sadder and wiser. 

As illustrative of the extreme irrationality which may 
characterize such phenomena the tulip mania in Holland has 
been frequently referred to. Sidis x relates the story as fol- 
lows : " About the year 1634 the Dutch became suddenly 
possessed with a mania for tulips. The ordinary industry of 
the country was neglected, and the population, even to its 
lowest dregs, embarked in the tulip trade. The tulip rose 

1 "The Psychology of Suggestion," pp. 343-345- 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 267 

rapidly in value, and when the mania was in full swing some 
daring speculators invested as much as one hundred thou- 
sand florins in the purchase of forty roots. The bulbs were 
as precious as diamonds; they were sold by their weight in 
perits, a weight less than a grain." ..." Many speculators 
grew suddenly rich. The epidemic of tulipomania raged 
with intense fury, the enthusiasm filled every heart, and 
confidence was at its height. A golden bait hung tempt- 
ingly out before the people, and one after another they 
rushed to the tulip market like flies around a honey pot. 
Every one imagined that the passion for tulips would last 
forever, and that the wealthy from every part of the world 
would send to Holland and pay whatever prices were asked 
for them. The riches of Europe would be concentrated on 
the shores of the Zuyder Zee. Nobles, citizens, farmers, 
mechanics, seamen, footmen, maid-servants, chimney-sweeps 
and old-clothes women dabbled in tulips. Houses and lands 
were offered for sale at ruinously low prices, or assigned in 
payment of bargains made at the tulip markets. So conta- 
gious was the epidemic that foreigners became smitten with 
the same frenzy, and money poured into Holland from all 
directions. 

" The speculative mania did not last long ; social suggestion 
began to work in the opposite direction, and a universal 
panic suddenly seized on the minds of the Dutch. Instead 
of buying every one was trying to sell. Tulips fell below 
their normal value. Thousands of merchants were utterly 
ruined, and a cry of lamentation arose in the land." This 
description, doubtless, is too highly wrought, but well illus- 
trates the absurdities into which a people of average intel- 
ligence can be precipitated by the all-pervasive sweep of 
mental contagion. 

Among epidemics of the extreme type, which we have 
called manias, are to be classed financial panics, speculative 
crazes, extravagant religious revivals, popular terrors such 
as the " great fear " which swept over France in the year 
1789; and every form of emotional excitement that may 



268 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

obsess groups of people, and, by upsetting the control of rea- 
son, lead to absurdity, folly and even immorality of conduct. 
Among the less extreme and quite healthy types belong gen- 
uine religious revivals, which are never irrational and always 
ethical ; educational enthusiasms ; popular indignation at po- 
litical corruption, such as not long since swept the United 
States ; agitations against gross miscarriages of justice, such 
as stirred the French people and the whole world in con- 
nection with the celebrated Dreyfus case; and I should in- 
clude also a war spirit which is inspired by genuine patriot- 
ism or devotion to liberty and justice, though it may easily 
degenerate into an epidemic of the unhealthy type. In gen- 
eral it may be said that popular excitements which have 
their origin in the stimulation of the higher sentiments 
nearly always give the population a common orientation to- 
ward healthy action ; and, unless corrupted by some baser 
emotion and degraded from their ethical character, cannot 
leave behind them the moral devastation always found in the 
wake of the more extreme, irrational and unethical types 
of mental epidemics. Even the Crusades are not an excep- 
tion to this ; for while there was much extravagant absurdity, 
from the modern point of view, connected with them, they 
were motived by the highest sentiment of which the peo- 
ple of that day were capable. 

I. We should bear in mind that mental epidemics are the 
result of two fundamental processes which are present in 
all social action. First, the like response to stimuli by like- 
minded persons. People of a similar mental organization 
respond in similar ways to the same stimuli ; people of un- 
like mental organization respond to the same stimuli in dif- 
ferent ways. We have no other way of measuring their 
mental likeness and unlikeness. This is too obvious to re- 
quire any elaboration. The second process is the communi- 
cation of mental states from one to another. This process is 
not so simple in the phenomena we are now discussing as it 
is in assemblies. The group as a whole does not assemble, 
though the assembling of small companies within the general 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 269 

group may be an important part of the process ; and personal 
contacts in the ordinary affairs of life are also included in it. 
Travellers moving from place to place are important chan- 
nels through which ideas and emotions are spread abroad. 
In present-day society, books, magazines and especially news- 
papers play a very great part in generalizing ideas and bring- 
ing all the minds in a group to a common state of feeling. 

While these two processes are both always present and 
effective in bringing about mental unity in a group, it is not 
easy in many cases to determine their relative importance; 
though sometimes it is possible to say with certainty that the 
one or the other is the predominant factor. For instance, 
in the common terror inspired by an earthquake shock we 
are sure that the chief cause is the like response to the same 
stimulus, though communication of feeling from one to an- 
other is by no means an inconsiderable factor. On the other 
hand, enthusiasm for a political candidate is likely to be 
mainly a matter of communication, and yet if the candidate 
is a well-known man of striking personality the other factor 
may be the chief one. In the spread of an emotion by read- 
ing the same books and periodicals it might at first appear 
that a like response to the same stimulus is the sole explana- 
tion, but a closer consideration will show that the other 
process is going on here also. The emotions of the one 
who is setting forth the ideas or relating the events are in- 
tensified by the mental image, however vague it may be, of 
the multitudes whom he is addressing in this indirect way. 
In fact the multitudes are, in image, present to his con- 
sciousness. Likewise the reader's emotions are intensified 
by the more or less vague consciousness of the multitudes 
of other readers whose feelings are also being stirred. Com- 
munication of emotion takes place here, too. It is an ideal 
communication but is none the less real. In studying the 
mental epidemic, it is well to bear in mind that each process 
plays a more or less important part in it, and their rela- 
tive importance may have considerable significance in its 
proper interpretation. 



27O PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

II. We can hardly claim to be able as yet to state the 
" laws " of mental epidemics. Such phenomena are too 
complex, the factors entering into them are too many and 
various to permit of accurate analysis ; and yet it is possible 
to formulate some of the characteristics of them which are 
so universal that it is hardly straining language to call them 
laws. 

1. They are wave-like. They increase in intensity, reach 
a maximum pitch and gradually die away. This, as we 
know, is a general characteristic of feeling. Collective emo- 
tions are rhythmical, just as the emotions of the individ- 
ual. The waves, of course, are of very unequal height and 
length, according to the nature of the interests in connec- 
tion with which they appear and the complex and sometimes 
obscure conditions which give rise to them. The popular 
excitement may run its course in a day or in a few days, or 
it may persist for weeks or months. And within a wave of 
great length are always included briefer rhythms, or shorter 
waves of greater intensity. When a popular mood, or long 
persisting trend of collective emotion, is in the ascendant, 
any incident or suggested idea in line with it finds open and 
uncritical minds, and the emotional impulse connected with 
this idea or incident is reinforced by the full power of the 
general current of feeling. If the idea or incident is a 
highly exciting one — and it will always be more exciting 
under these than under other conditions — the result will be 
a temporary intensifying of the prevailing emotion. We 
may speak of the general or longer wave as primary and the 
shorter one as secondary. For example, in the first stage of 
the great war the majority of the people of the United States 
were under the sway of a decided anti-German feeling; but 
during this time several incidents of a highly exciting nature 
occurred. Particularly was this true of the sinking of the 
great steamer, Lusitania. These incidents superinduced 
what I have called secondary waves of extraordinary in- 
tensity. On the other hand, any suggestion which runs 
counter to the prevailing current will be ineffective, or at any 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 2^\ 

rate much weakened in force, until the dominant emotion 
has spent itself. 1 

2. Each wave of collective emotion is followed by a re- 
action in the opposite direction. Times of depression fol- 
low times of elation. Periods of sensuous enjoyment alter- 
nate with periods of moral contrition and severity. After 
the laxity of Charles I and his court came the rigours of 
puritanism, and after this had run its course came the resto- 
ration of the corrupt court of Charles II and the reopening 
of the flood-gates of carnality. The panic and the specu- 
lative fever chase each other. It is hard to say what is the 
cause of the reaction ; but it is a general fact. 

3. Two powerful popular emotions can not occur at the 
same time. This is obviously true if the emotions are op- 
posite, or antagonistic to one another; if one prevails it in- 
hibits the another. It is also true when the two are not op- 
posite but only different, i.e., are concerned with different 
interests. For instance, before the world war broke out 
the people of the United States were mildly excited about 

1 A caution, perhaps, needs to be observed if we are not to enter- 
tain a false conception of these "waves." We are using a material 
image, and this may lead us to think of these waves as continuous 
states of ^ feeling ; but it will be well for us to remember that in such 
" waves " of popular emotion no individual is throughout its dura- 
tion in a continuous state of the characteristic feeling. Each per- 
son has recurrent states of feeling with regard to the particular 
interest which is for the time dominant, as his attention is from 
time to time directed to it; but naturally this occurs often, and 
hence he has a frequent recurrence of the characteristic feeling. 
Obviously he can not be thinking and feeling about that particular 
interest all the time; and there are, doubtless, times of greater or 
less length when no single individual in the group is in that par- 
ticular state of feeling — for instance, they may all be asleep. 
The use of the phrase, "wave of popular feeling," means simply 
that for a period of some length a large proportion of the people 
are having frequently recurring states of feeling of a certain type. 
It is true, however, that there does persist during such a period of 
mental epidemic an unusual susceptibility to the stimuli which arouse 
that particular type of feeling. 

Neither should we think of a wave of popular feeling as an 
emotional experience of a great mind over and above particular 
persons. There is no over- individual social mind; but there are in- 
dividual social minds, i.e., individual minds are social. 



2>J2 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

conditions in Mexico ; but after the excitement incident to 
the great war seized upon the public mind of America the 
Mexican situation, although gravely accentuated and im- 
periling important interests of this country, attracted little at- 
tention and caused hardly a thrill of emotion. One cannot 
reasonably expect a great wave of religious feeling to sweep 
a community during a period of deep and pervasive political 
excitement. Why is this ? Perhaps it is due, in part, to the 
fact that people at any given time have only a certain amount 
of energy. At any rate, whatever may be the ultimate ex- 
planation, the human mind normally tends to centralize and 
unify its activity; some interest comes to be for a time dom- 
inant, and around it both the intellectual and emotional activ- 
ities are organized. 

4. These excitements spread along lines of mental ho- 
mogeneity, of common interest and frequent contact. This is 
an obvious and inevitable consequence of the fact before 
pointed out that they result partly from a similar response of 
like-minded people to the same stimuli ; and partly from the 
communication of ideas and feelings from one to another. 

III. What are the general conditions which are favour- 
able to the occurrence of mental epidemics? 

1. A large uncultured population. By an uncultured 
population is meant people who are ignorant, uneducated; 
people who have had but a limited and monotonous experi- 
ence, and people of low mental organization. Among these 
classes an excitement of any kind which strongly stimulates 
the instincts will spread rapidly. As this large number are 
swept into the psychical vortex the suction becomes very 
powerful. Minds of a higher order are drawn in. As the 
swirl of the engulfing current thus widens, it looses from 
their moorings minds that are yet more securely anchored in 
reason ; and so goes on spreading until the steadiest intellects 
become dizzy and normal thinking and acting become all but 
impossible. If there were but a small proportion of people 
of inferior intelligence the current could not attain sufficient 
force to disturb the mental equilibrium of the leaders. To 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 273 

change the figure, the multitude of easily influenced minds 
constitute so much highly inflammable material which a 
very little spark will ignite, and as the flames spread struc- 
tures which are well fortified against fire are irresistibly en- 
veloped in the general conflagration. We must not forget 
that all men are in some measure suggestible, and as the vol- 
ume of suggestion increases it subdues one after another 
the more highly organized and independent minds in the re- 
verse order of their stability. A multitude of weak minds 
reacting upon one another and intensifying their common 
excitement can upset the rational processes of a stronger 
mind on which they individually would have but an insig- 
nificant influence. Herein lies the chief danger of a mental 
epidemic. It is always likely to result in the reversal of 
the normal social process — the leadership of the stronger 
minds ; and so, in group action, it usually means the domina- 
tion of intelligence, by instinct. 

2. A mental epidemic may occur among a people of good 
intelligence if the suggested idea which starts the excite- 
ment is such that their past experience furnishes no stand- 
ard by which it can be critically tested. It should be kept 
in mind that all people are highly suggestible as to matters 
that lie beyond the range of their experience; though even 
under this condition all are not equally suggestible, because, 
apart from temperamental predispositions which may have 
something to do with one's responsiveness to suggestions, 
there is in such a case no obstruction to the suggestion ex- 
cept the cautious and critical disposition of mind which may 
have had its origin in past experience. This critical mental 
attitude implies a somewhat varied experience and consider- 
able reflection, and not a large proportion of any popula- 
tion is likely to have acquired it. It does not, therefore, 
prove to be a very serious obstruction to the general accept- 
ance of the idea which generates the contagious emotion. 
The people generally being unable to judge critically the sug- 
gestions which thus lie outside of the range of their knowl- 
edge, and not having acquired the critical capacity which en- 



274 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

ables them to maintain an attitude of scepticism on general 
principles, are without the means of protecting themselves 
against the emotional tide. This is a purely negative condi- 
tion and of itself does not furnish an adequate explana- 
tion of a mental epidemic ; but it is of great practical impor- 
tance because it gives an open opportunity for positive causes 
to work unhindered. We may in this way account in large 
part for the town booms in the South, referred to above. 
The southern people could not be fairly called unintelligent ; 
but their civilization had been for the most part of the rural 
type ; they were not acquainted with the conditions and laws 
of modern industrial development and had had little expe- 
rience in city-building. Much was said about that time of the 
vast natural resources of their section of the country ; they 
were just awakening to the realization that their land must 
inevitably attract large investments of capital. And so, lack- 
ing the experience and knowledge which would have given 
them a better appreciation of the time-element always neces- 
sary in the development of a great industrial civilization, 
their imaginations saw their towns expanding as by magic 
into vast cities within a decade, while shrewd land agents, 
themselves partly under the spell of the contagion, painted 
glowing pictures of the rise of factories, the influx of pop- 
ulation and the fat fortunes which awaited those who in- 
vested early in town lots. 

3. Positive conditions also may be found in the experi- 
ence of a people, which may have been such as to predispose 
them to accept without question suggestions of a certain 
kind. 

Consider, for instance, the " Great Fear " that obsessed 
the minds of the French people in the months of July and 
August, 1789. A report, originating nobody knew where, 
that the king was going to send brigands among the people 
to rob them, was readily believed, and the cry, " The brig- 
ands are coming! " was enough to cast a spell of terror over 
a neighbourhood. A predisposing cause of the uncritical ac- 
ceptance of the idea was clearly the fact that the people had 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 275 

learned by sad experience that they had little to expect from 
their government but oppression and exploitation. Other 
predisposing conditions were doubtless also present ; but the 
state of mind resulting from the well-known selfishness and 
brutality of the ruling classes was certainly a chief factor 
in the situation. 

Indeed, collective moods, if the expression may be al- 
lowed, are very important predisposing conditions. Often 
they are manifestly the result of the experience, especially 
the cumulative result of repeated experiences, of a people 
who have suffered under special conditions. A succession 
of experiences of the same general tendency is likely to pro- 
duce a state of abnormal mental irritability, an attitude of 
mind expectant of similar experiences, a disposition to inter- 
pret in that sense any occurrence which by any possibility 
can be so construed. A man whom a series of misfortunes 
has befallen is predisposed to accept the slightest intimation 
that further adversities are impending ; and the man who has 
had a run of good fortune is equally easy to be convinced 
that the fickle goddess will continue to smile upon him ; and 
this is as true of a whole population as it is of an individual. 
In this way may be developed what I have called a collective 
mood, or a general trend of expectancy, which renders the 
people so affected highly suggestible along that line. 

The predisposing conditions may be due to profound and 
extensive social changes. In such times the institutions of 
society which once satisfied the needs of the people cease 
to do so ; but they persist and become formalized, fossilized. 
Men feel that in and through these institutions they are no 
longer satisfactorily adjusted to one another. The masses, 
and also many of the higher and finer spirits, become restless 
and discontented, but few even of the latter clearly perceive 
where the trouble lies and still less clearly the proper 
course to take for its correction. No longer attached in 
their hearts to the existing forms and institutions; feeling 
deeply the need of new principles and adjustments, and being 
unable of themselves to discover the principles and bring 



2j6 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

about the adjustments, the masses of the people are ex- 
tremely suggestible and yield readily to the appeal of a 
strong leader who comes proposing a definite principle and 
program. The great movements which have lifted the 
world to higher moral and spiritual levels have generally had 
their origin in and, in part certainly, owe their prevalence to 
such conditions. These movements are initiated by some 
great, dominating personality, or group of personalities ; 
but master first the "common people " and through them 
finally prevail. Christianity itself thus arose and spread; 
and thus the great reforms of Christianity have been ac- 
complished. The common people heard Jesus gladly. To 
the common people did Savonarola, Huss, WycklifT, Lu- 
ther, Wesley, and many others, make their appeal. Thus re- 
forms in other religions have been achieved. Thus modern 
democracy won the day — Hampden, Washington, Lincoln, 
as well as the great democratic leaders of this generation, 
found their support among the common people. Along this 
road the beneficent reforms of the present hour are march- 
ing to victory. Upon the common people the mighty men 
who lead the way to better things must lean for support. 

The everlasting tendency is for institutionalized culture to 
become unresponsive to the living needs of humanity. At 
the same time the interests of the dominant classes come to 
be identified with this institutionalized culture and so uncom- 
promisingly opposed to all reforming or revolutionizing en- 
thusiasms ; while the " lower classes " gradually come to a 
dim and inarticulate realization that the institutions of so- 
ciety no longer serve their interests. Then some great spirit 
with deep ethical insight and prophetic vision arises and 
voices the dumb spiritual needs, the blind ethical hungers, of 
the populace, and from him emanates the mighty emotional 
tide which sweeps all before it. But every movement is 
always in danger, especially in its earlier stages, of falling 
into demoralizing excesses because of the low intelligence 
and high suggestibilty of the ignorant masses. And there 
is always danger lest the populace in its fickleness fall under 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 277 

the sway of a counter suggestion and become the foolish 
destroyer of its own deliverers. Thus Jesus suffered, and 
many another who has followed him in devotion to the in- 
terests of the people. 

The truth is that a great enthusiasm of any kind, whatever 
its ethical import, spreads along the line of least resistance, 
and the line of least resistance runs through the highly sug- 
gestible minds of the populace. Along the high road of pop- 
ular suggestibility have travelled all the moralizing and all 
the- demoralizing enthusiasms that have blessed or blasted 
humanity. 

4. The prevalence among a population of a certain con- 
stitutional disposition may have much to do with their sug- 
gestibility. In general the races bred in northern latitudes 
will be less volatile, more inhibitive and therefore less sug- 
gestible than races bred in southern climes. The severity of 
the climate drove the former into the seclusion of the home, 
compelled them to practise a more careful foresight and a 
firmer self-control. This cause operating through many 
generations tended to fix these traits as racial characteris- 
tics. These temperamental differences do not imply that the 
people of northern races have less feeling, in the sense of 
less conscious realization of the meaning of their experi- 
ences, but they manifest their feelings less quickly and 
readily in outward action; their inhibitive powers are 
more highly developed. Of course, such a statement does 
not by any means hold good of all the individuals of the 
races compared ; but means simply that a larger proportion 
of individuals of a certain temperament are found in a race 
developed in one environment than in that developed in an- 
other ; that the conditions of life are more favourable to the 
" survival " of a given temperamental type, which thus be- 
comes dominant through the process of natural selection, and 
influences the whole population by the law of imitation. 
Contrast, for instance, the English and the Latin types, the 
German and the Celtic. Or set the present social develop- 
ment of Russia over against the history of France in the 



278 PSYCHOLOGY AttD PREACHING 

eighteenth century. The political struggle in Russia in this 
generation is similar in many essential respects to that of 
France in the Revolutionary Epoch, and the social condi- 
tions are much the same. But how differently do the Rus- 
sians go about it! There are points of similarity in method, 
to be sure ; but the contrasts are more profound and striking 
than the resemblances. Violence is characteristic of both 
movements ; but in Russia it seems to be limited to small 
groups of desperate and unbalanced men and women; while 
in France practically the whole population was swept by 
tempests of violent fury. Among races the Italic, Celtic 
and Hellenic groups seem to be more subject to sudden emo- 
tional seizures of the entire population, more readily dom- 
inated or obsessed by a single idea or sentiment than any 
other of the peoples that have attained to a high culture ; 
while the Teutonic and the Slavic groups are less so. 1 

These temperamental differences which manifest them- 
selves among the advanced peoples doubtless also exist 
among the backward ; but all races in the early stages of de- 
velopment are highly suggestible, because of the decided pre- 
dominance of the instinctive over the intellectual factors of 
personality, and are therefore quite subject to mental epi- 
demics. 

IV. We may now properly ask : What bearing has the 
progress of society upon the phenomena we are studying? 

1 The paragraph above was written before I became acquainted 
with the illuminating and suggestive work of Professor Ellsworth 
Huntington on " Civilization and Climate " ; and perhaps should 
be somewhat modified in the light which he has cast upon this rather 
obscure subject. His conclusion, which he has apparently demon- 
strated in the main, is that a very high development of civilization 
depends chiefly upon three climatic factors — first, the general prev- 
alence of moderate temperatures; second a considerable degree of 
humidity; and, third, a marked variability of the weather. It seems, 
then, that long-continued extremes of either heat or cold, great 
aridity of the atmosphere and uniformitv of weather conditions are 
all depressing and tend to prevent a high development of human 
energy. However, it appears to be true that races developed in 
warm latitudes show certain temperamental qualities not found in 
the races bred in cold regions. For while extremes of heat and 
cold both depress, they affect the nervous system in different ways- 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 279 

Let us for convenience divide the development of society 
into three general stages. 

First, the primitive stage. In this stage the social life is 
simple and undifferentiated ; at least the differentiation is at 
a minimum. This state of things is favourable to the sweep 
of such an excitement over a whole population with un- 
diminished power. The population is not split up into 
sharply defined classes, except along the lines of sex and 
age. These being the only groupings which are clearly dis- 
tinct from one another in interest, experience and mental or- 
ganization, they indicate the only cleavages which offer any 
obstruction to the sweep of contagious emotion over the en- 
tire population ; and it is obvious that, apart from these lim- 
itations, an emotional excitement will spread with equal 
facility and with full power, in every direction, somewhat 
like a flood of water over a level plain. 

Second, there is what I shall call the middle stage. In 
this stage the society is sharply divided into quite distinct 
classes. The caste system prevails. Between the classes 
almost impassable chasms run. Each class has its own 
standards, its own point of view, its own interests. Its 
sympathies are largely shut up within its own membership; 
what takes place in the social strata below or above it excites 
but a languid, or at most a curious, interest in the hearts of 
those who move within its circle. Intercourse with the 
members of other classes is reduced by the spirit of ex- 
clusiveness to the minimum absolutely necessary for carry- 
ing on the functions of life: and the inevitable contacts are 
made quite perfunctory, emptied as far as possible of all per- 
sonal content. The upper classes scorn to imitate the lower 
ones ; and where the demarcation is so broad and fixed the 
people of the lower classes can ape the upper only in the 
most superficial way, if at all, and view from afar, most 
often without appreciative insight, the emotions which agi- 
tate their superiors. The water of sympathy does not flow 
down from above to the lower social levels — unless there be 
a veritable flood — because it is too carefully held back by 



280 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the dykes thrown up by pride and convention ; and it cannot 
flow from the lower to the higher levels except under the 
highest pressure. But emotion spreads readily and rapidly 
within the class lines. The members of one class, therefore, 
may be swept by a common emotion which does not cause 
even a tremor in the breasts of others who rank below or 
above them in the social scale. For example, the Negroes 
in our Southern states may be under the spell of a most in- 
tense mental epidemic — convulsed by a common fear or a 
common elation, or wild with religious fanaticism — while 
the whites look on with only an amused interest; and the 
whites may be " crazed " by a financial panic or a land boom, 
while the black man pursues the even tenor of his way, mak- 
ing the forest vocal with his plantation melody or the fields 
ring with his care-free laughter. The Southern states are, 
however, far from being typical of the middle stage of social 
development I am now describing. For typical societies of 
this kind we must look to lands where the social stratification 
is yet unmodified by the powerful influences of modern in- 
dustrialism. 

There are only two conditions under which the excitement 
prevailing in one class is likely to overleap the social chasm 
and infect another. If it becomes overwhelming in its in- 
tensity it may spread across class lines. This condition was 
approximated in the tremendous war excitement that con- 
vulsed Southern society in the early sixties of the last cen- 
tury. In that case the cause of the excitement was one that 
affected, indirectly at least, the relations of the two classes 
to one another — though fortunately the Negroes had only 
a dim apprehension of that fact, and were in sympathy with 
their white masters ; but notwithstanding this, the agitation 
was only imperfectly communicated to them. If, on the 
other hand, the excitement grows directly out of the rela- 
tions of the classes to each other and they both are clearly 
conscious of this, it will spread across the line; but in this 
case it will not on the two sides take the form of a single 
emotion but of two opposite or antagonistic emotions, and 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 28l 

the effect is not a mental unification of the two classes but a 
broadening and deepening of the hiatus between them. 
This was well exemplified in the great social storms of the 
Reconstruction Era in the South, and in the racial excite- 
ments which have occurred intermittently ever since. 
There are, indeed, no more effective barriers to the spread 
of a common emotion than distinctions of class, and the 
effectiveness of the barriers is in direct ratio to the 
sharpness and fixity of these distinctions. When they 
become rigid and impassable as in a caste system, noth- 
ing but a profound excitement which directly concerns 
some fundamental and universal human interest can 
give a common orientation of mind to the whole pop- 
ulation, and then the emotion must be so intense that 
it suspends all the acquired controls of conduct and 
leaves the fundamental instincts in complete ascend- 
ancy. What takes place then is not so much a communica- 
tion of emotion or the radiation of an excitement from a 
centre, as a like instinctive reaction to a stimulus too power- 
ful to be responded to by reason. 

The third stage in social development is our modern in- 
dustrial society. In this the caste system has dissolved or is 
dissolving. The hiatus between classes is no longer impass- 
able. Families may sink from a higher into a lower, or rise 
from a lower into a higher, class within two generations or 
even one. The distinctions on the whole remain clear 
enough, but the lines of demarcation between the class fron- 
tiers are almost blotted out Even in western European 
countries, where the traditional aristocratic stratification 
of society was only less rigid than in India, the classical 
land of the caste, the tendency to substitute open classes for 
the closed-class system has profoundly modified the social 
organization ; while in the United States the only clearly de- 
fined principle of stratification is income, which determines 
the standard of living and thus the general lines within 
which reciprocal social intercourse is practicable. 

One might infer, from this that the trend is toward the 



282 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

reinstatement of the simple undifferentiated type of society. 
But this is far from the fact. If the lines between 
classes have become wavering and indistinct, the specializa- 
tion of occupations has been going on at the same time on 
a quite remarkable scale; and the occupational differentia- 
tion produces a great variety of social types. Those en- 
gaged in the same occupation develop a certain similarity 
of mental organization, which becomes in some cases very 
pronounced. They have their common interests, and in the 
more important occupations they have more frequent con- 
tacts with one another, or at any rate their relations with one 
another are likely to be more sympathetic, full and free, 
offering a more open path for the spread of common ideas 
and emotions. On the other hand, however, the important 
fact must be noted that occupations have been thoroughly in- 
dividualized ; almost every trace of hereditary occupations 
has vanished. The father follows one trade or profession 
and the son a different one, or the several sons several dif- 
ferent ones. And thus within the same family more than 
one occupational type is very often found. Moreover, in the 
modern world the great diversification of interests has mul- 
tiplied and varied the relations of men to one another be- 
yond all parallel. It is obvious, therefore, that a great and 
increasing number of social ties run across the occupational 
lines, as well as across the crevices of class distinctions. 
While the social cleavages have been greatly multiplied in 
number there is vastly more criss-crossing of social relation- 
ship. As the differentiation of specialized groups goes on 
within society, the threads which knit them together also 
multiply. If I may use so crude a figure, the social garment 
has many more seams but the seams are much more closely 
stitched. 

The density of the population must also be taken into con- 
sideration. It is greater than ever and is constantly in- 
creasing. Thus social contacts are much more numerous 
than ever both within and across group-lines, though it must 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 283 

be admitted that these contacts become more and more per- 
functory and non-personal. 

Another notable feature of modern life is the vast exten- 
sion of the means of communication. Men travel much 
more often and, as a rule, much farther than they used to. 
The number of people who read has also greatly increased, 
and they read more than they ever did before, and while the 
members of each class and occupation read a literature 
which is somewhat specialized and adapted to their tastes 
and needs, much of the literature that pours from the press 
circulates through all classes and forms a line along which 
ideas and emotions may be communicated across class divi- 
sions. The leading newspapers and magazines circulate 
over extensive areas and bring into one mental community 
great numbers of men widely separated in local communities. 
Books pour from the press in an increasing flood, and 
many of them are read by tens of thousands in all parts of 
the world and in all the strata of society. Along the in- 
numerable telegraph and telephone wires the thoughts and 
emotions which engage the minds and hearts of men in one 
part of the world are flashed to distant peoples. It is not 
an exaggeration to say that the civilized world is coming to 
be, in some real sense of the word, one mental community. 
At the same time it should be borne in mind that this tends 
not to make all men alike in thought and feeling, but really 
individualizes the mental systems of men. 1 

Now what relation have these great tendencies of modern 
life to the phenomena of mental epidemics ? 

In the first place, it would be reasonable to look for the 
more frequent occurrence of epidemics in modern society. 
This may be expected to result from the vast extension of 
intercommunication, which brings widely separated com- 
munities into mental touch. This close inter-relation of 
distant sections of humanity and the wider knowledge 
of what is going on in the world vastly multiply the 

1 See Chapter III. 



284 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

number of stimuli that start tides of social emotion. In 
these days there come to our knowledge many exciting in- 
cidents and situations of which men living in the compar- 
atively isolated communities of earlier times would never 
have heard. For instance, the celebrated Dreyfus case pro- 
foundly moved men in all parts of the world; but only a 
century previous the detailed knowledge of it and the attend- 
ant excitement would have been limited to France, and prob- 
ably to a section of the French people. In 1904-5 the whole 
civilized world was electrified by the Russo-Japanese war. 
A tide of sympathy with and admiration for the Japanese 
swept the people of England and America, A hundred 
years ago we should have had meagre reports of it after all 
its stirring incidents had become cold history ; and it would 
not have started a single thrill. In fact, a hundred years ago 
Russia and Japan had no communication with one another, 
hostile or friendly, and our knowledge of them was too misty 
to engage our interest in either. A century ago even the 
great war in Europe, if it had been possible then on so co- 
lossal a scale, would have been too far away to involve our 
country and our reports of it too meager to stir us as under 
the conditions of today. But the frequency of mental epi- 
demics is due not only to the wonderful extension of inter- 
communication. The greater density of population and the 
increasing tension of life probably tend in the same direc- 
tion. Life is more urgent and dynamic. Men venture 
farther and dare more, plan and achieve or fail on a larger 
scale ; and in such circumstances we should naturally expect 
a more frequent occurrence of events that startle or shock 
the public mind and generate waves of common emotion. 

In the second place, a reasonable inference would be that 
the epidemic would be more diffusive, i.e., would radiate in 
all directions more readily than in the middle stage of social 
development. For while class distinctions remain and oc- 
cupational groups have become more numerous and more 
highly specialized, the dividing lines are crossed by many 
more threads of relationship. So to speak, the walls sep- 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 285 

arating these various groups are more numerous, but they 
are not so high nor so thick, and they are pierced by many 
more gates through which ideas and emotions may be more 
readily communicated than through the less numerous but 
thicker, higher and more unbroken walls that separated the 
larger divisions of a caste system. In a rigidly stratified, 
static, traditional, custom-ruled society the common emotion 
spread only within the limits of the caste, and assumed a 
greater intensity because within those impassable bounds 
there was so little mental differentiation. The mental epi- 
demic could propagate itself in but one direction, but in that 
one direction gathered greater force. But the substitution 
of " open classes " for the caste system has profoundly 
changed the situation and, therefore, collective emotions dif- 
fuse themselves more readily. 

In the third place, we should expect these epidemics to be 
much reduced in intensity in the modern world. The 
chasms between classes are not so broad as they once were 
and emotions spread across them more easily ; but they nev- 
ertheless constitute serious obstructions to the spread of 
social emotion. The lines of mental cleavage between occu- 
pations by no means form impassable barriers, but they are 
of sufficient importance to check the communication of 
mental states and prevent in some measure like responses to 
the same stimuli. For instance, the same situation is likely 
to call forth a different reaction in the minds of lawyers, 
merchants, labourers and preachers, unless it be so powerful 
an appeal to the fundamental instincts as to upset in large 
measure the intellectual processes. The higher individual- 
ization of men is not conducive to the unhindered sweep of 
a common feeling. 

Still another condition tends to lower the intensity of 
mental epidemics. The average man today has many inter- 
ests, corresponding to the many relations in which he stands 
to his fellow men ; and every one of these interests and rela- 
tions claims a part of his attention, time and energy. In 
this respect his situation is in contrast with that of the aver- 



286 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

age man of by-gone ages. The multiplication and dif- 
ferentiation of the interests of the individual are among the 
most characteristic features of modern life. When some 
current of social emotion pours through a community of 
such persons it is not nearly so likely to become powerful 
enough to monopolize time and thought, because the other 
interests are clamouring for attention, and their neglect is apt 
to entail serious consequences. It is hard now, therefore, to 
secure the focalization of attention necessary for the devel- 
opment of very high waves of common emotion. On the 
whole, then, our premises lead irresistibly to the conclu- 
sion that mental epidemics must be, as a rule, less over- 
whelming in their intensity now than in past times. 

Now, are these inferences, that greater frequency, more 
diffusiveness and lowered intensity characterize mental epi- 
demics in modern society, in accord with the facts ? 

It does not seem that there can be any reasonable ques- 
tion as to greater frequency. The appeal, of course, is to 
history, and there is scarecly a doubt that the facts con- 
firm our contention. If there be such a doubt it probably 
arises from the fact that the mental epidemics of earlier 
times were more isolated and more striking; and seen in 
the perspective of history appear to be closer together in time 
than the less pronounced types of the same phenomena 
through which we are living. There is even less ground 
for doubt as to greater diffusion and reduced intensity. It 
is, of course, difficult or impossible to measure the force 
of a mental movement or to determine the extent to which, 
as compared with other movements, it spreads through all 
classes of the population ; but I am persuaded that a careful 
study of this class of phenomena as they have been re- 
corded will convince the sceptical that the propositions above 
stated have a firm basis in facts. Limitation of space will 
not permit me to go here into an examination of the histori- 
cal evidence; but one fact which is apparently inconsistent 
with our conclusion should be briefly noticed, viz., the 
severity of financial panics in modern times. As a matter 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 287 

of fact the financial panic is a phenomenon which can ap- 
pear in an intense form only in a rather highly organized 
system of national or international economy. It was simply 
impossible in a tribal or household system of economy. 
Strictly speaking, it seems that financial panics of a violent 
species are phenomena characteristic of the intermediate 
stages of economic organization on a national scale. They 
cannot occur until the financial system of the country has 
attained to a considerable degree of unity ; but as it develops 
it tends to become so highly centralized and integrated in 
some one great institution that each unit of the system is 
supported by the strength of the whole, and this gives a 
steadiness which inspires confidence and allays the excite- 
ment which would lead to demoralization. When all the 
conditions are taken into consideration it is probable that 
mental epidemics of this variety, as of every other, are 
becoming more frequent, more diffusive and less violent. 
Assuming the truth of this contention, we may safely con- 
clude that the general tendency is away from excessive and 
demoralizing, towards more moderate and healthy expe- 
riences of this kind. We shall probably never witness again 
the wild insanities which from time to time afflicted society 
in the Middle Ages. It is not probable that such fanatical 
movements as the Crusades or such a madness as the anti- 
witchcraft mania will ever be possible again, nor should we 
except a repetition of such abnormal religious revivals as 
that which swept like wild-fire over the frontier population 
of Kentucky and Tennessee in 1800. This may be ac- 
counted for by the general increase of intelligence, but the 
general increase of intelligence is itself coincident with and 
conditioned by the social processes so rudely sketched. 

It is useless to argue as to the moral and social value of 
these abnormal religious excitements. Unquestionably some 
good results followed them, directly and indirectly; but it 
is also beyond dispute that these benefits were purchased at 
the cost of much injury. We have no scales in which we 
can weigh the good and ill effects ; but it is certain that the 



288 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

good effects of all mental epidemics are proportionally 
greater as these social emotions are checked and brought 
under the direction of intelligence. In proportion as the 
crude and violent emotions are rationalized into high senti- 
ments do they become socializing agencies, means of ethical 
education and spiritual advancement. It is a mistake of 
capital importance to try by artificial methods to bring on 
excessive religious excitements. In the first place, the effort 
is doomed to failure. The history of acute mental epi- 
demics shows beyond question that they can rarely if ever 
be deliberately started. They do not originate in that way. 
The state of general abnormal suggestibility which they 
imply can not be induced at will. It is due to causes that lie 
beyond the power of any man or body of men. Only a weak 
imitation of such excitements can be produced by deliberate 
effort. In the second place, it ought not to be done, if it 
could be. To submerge the intelligence in a tide of irra- 
tional emotion does not advance true religion. The charac- 
ters of men are not transformed into likeness to Christ by 
the reflexive twitching of the nerves, as in " the jerks," nor 
by a reversion to the canine type, as in the " barking exer- 
cise," in which men " gathered in groups, on all fours, like 
dogs, growling and snapping the teeth at the foot of a tree 
as the minister preached, — a practice which they designated 
as ' treeing the devil/ " 1 

One of the most pernicious superstitions that has hindered 
the progress of true religion is the notion, which has been 
so prevalent in backward societies and has survived so per- 
sistently during the whole Christian era, that the operation 
of the Divine Spirit is especially manifest in an over- 
wrought emotional state in which the intelligence is 
swamped. Can any valid reason be given why we should 
expect the Divine Spirit to be present in human emotion 
more than in the operation of the reason and the conscience ? 
The apostle Paul had to contend in his day against this 
very superstition, and he warns the Corinthians that " the 
1 Davenport, " Primitive Traits in Religious Revivals," p. 80. 



MENTAL EPIDEMICS 289 

spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets." * That 
is to say, if the emotion passes the bounds of self-control it 
loses its religious value. The false notion that the Divine 
Spirit is especially present in high emotion, every generation 
of constructive religious leaders has had to combat. If 
religion perishes of drought in the arid sterility of intellec- 
tualism — as it certainly does — it is overwhelmed and 
drowned in the tidal waves of pure emotionalism. It may 
be thought that the danger lies today in the direction of in- 
tellectualism. Granting that this may be true as to a small 
section of the population, it is by no means a general danger. 
But the evidence seems clear that we are passing out of the 
era of virulent mental epidemics, and that fanaticism, ter- 
rors, manias, wild and dehumanizing emotional convulsions 
of every variety, are diminishing factors in modern life. It 
would certainly be too much to claim that we are beyond the 
danger of their recurrence. Here and there in peculiar cir- 
cumstances and under the unfortunate leadership of men 
who have extraordinary power to arouse emotion without 
any counter-balancing appeal to the intelligence, religious 
excitements may yet be developed to the point of demoraliz- 
ing excess. But we should be encouraged by the fact that 
such mental excitements, as in more primitive times occa- 
sionally swept the land like a West Indian storm, become less 
intense, less extensive and of shorter duration. Nor should 
we fear that genuine religious revivals will become a thing 
of the past. Man will always be an emotional being, but in 
his upward development his emotions will be more thor- 
oughly incorporated in the unity of a rational personality 
and organized into sentiments and ideals. Communities 
will always be subject to waves of common feeling, which 
will prompt to united action ; but collective action will be 
less spasmodic and irregular, more rational, ethical and or- 
derly. The religious revival will more than gain in moral 
significance and social value all that it loses in wild ex- 
travagance and abnormal demonstration. 

1 I Corinthians, Chap. 14. 



CHAPTER XIII 

OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 

No argument is required to show that one's occupation 
determines to a large extent his habitual mental processes. 
In adult life it appears to be the chief factor in giving direc- 
tion and form to the intellectual and emotional development. 
Its importance in this respect, while always predominant, 
will depend on how nearly the occupation monopolizes the 
time and energy of the person, i.e., upon the relative amount 
of leisure he has and how he uses it. If his leisure is ample 
and so used as to bring him into other and different currents 
of thought and feeling, to introduce new interests into his 
life and to give him points of view upon life different from 
those of his occupation, it will in a corresponding measure 
modify the development of his inner life. In other words, 
an occupation which leaves little leisure is, second only to 
the instinctive inheritance and the environment of child- 
hood, the chief determining factor in fashioning the per- 
sonality. Ample leisure, if so used as to bring one into 
other circles of interest, renders the occupation relatively 
less dominant; and yet it must be remembered that the 
habits formed in the occupation will most likely influence the 
use of the leisure time. One's leisure is spent according to 
inclination and taste; and inclination and taste, while not 
wholly determined by one's customary activities, are largely 
controlled by them. Without going into details we may say, 
then, that although the use of leisure may have some, and 
certain uses of it a considerable, tendency to soften the 
hard lines of occupational specialization, its effect is limited. 
That those who pursue the same occupation or similar 
ones tend to resemble one another in their modes of thought 

290 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 20,1 

and to conform to a type is a fact of common experience; 
but such types are somewhat indefinite and hard to describe. 
Indeed, individual variations within the same type are so 
numerous and so great, and there are so many individual 
exceptions, that no generalizations can be made which hold 
good absolutely and always. And yet these types are very 
real, and every one who seeks to influence men generally 
should study them. It would be interesting theoretically to 
study in detail the various psychological types which result 
from the many specialized activities of men; but for our 
practical purpose we need consider only three. 

I. THE MINISTERIAL TYPE 

Of course, it is not the intention to intimate that all minis- 
ters are alike. As has just been suggested, not all persons 
engaged in any occupation conform completely to the type 
which that occupation tends to produce; and variety in 
modes of thought and mental attitudes is in no class more 
strikingly obvious than among ministers. But experience 
teaches us that the ministerial occupation does tend to de- 
velop certain habits of mind. The average minister uncon- 
sciously and almost inevitably assumes such characteristic 
attitudes that he can nearly always be correctly classified, 
after a little conversation, by any intelligent stranger. His 
way of looking at things which are even remote from his 
daily work, the general run of his ideas, his " manners," his 
tones, his speech — all betray him. Sometimes the minis- 
terial flavour of his personality is too subtile to be described, 
but can readily be perceived. If calling attention to these 
things succeeds only in making him self-conscious, the result 
will be nothing better than an added awkwardness ; but the 
intelligent minister will find benefit from studying his own 
occupational type because it will enable him to check himself 
up and correct in some measure a strong tendency to a one- 
sided development of his personality. 

i. Consider the breadth of his occupation. If we should 
try to define the occupation of the modern minister by rea- 



292 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

soning inductively from the actual facts, we should find con- 
siderable difficulty. What a variety of things he is called 
upon to do ! In these later days he is supposed to be obliged 
to dabble in some way in almost everything that goes on. 
But setting aside the faddist notions that are current as a 
result of the idea, very true in itself, that the preacher 
should relate his work to all phases of life, we still have 
difficulty in making out exactly the range of the modern min- 
ister's legitimate activity. It is sometimes jestingly declared 
that, to meet the demands of a large congregation in a 
modern community, he must make more public addresses and 
of a vastly more varied character than a lawyer, read as 
much as a learned scholar, visit more people than a busy 
physician, exercise as much executive ability as the head of 
a great corporation, travel nearly as many miles as a 
" drummer," cultivate as much tact and adaptability as a 
politician, and withal must spend as much time in prayer and 
meditation as a saint. And there is almost as much truth as 
jest in the remark. No other occupation demands the exer- 
cise of so great a variety of talents. Thinking upon this 
aspect of his work, one is tempted to say that he can be a 
specialist only in an indefinite sense of the word, if at all. 
Indeed his function must be quite broadly defined ; and yet, 
though broad in scope and varied in details, it is definite 
enough in principle. Ideally it is to bring the whole mes- 
sage of Jesus to the whole life of men. It would seem, then, 
that his occupation is well adapted to develop a full and 
well rounded personality, a broadly human type. This is 
quite true. He needs to know all truth, as far as is humanly 
possible; to meet and deal with all classes and conditions 
of men; to enter into intelligent sympathy with all human 
activities and varieties of character. Surely an occupation 
which is full of such varied demands and stimulations will 
mould a large and noble human type. 

There is, however, great danger that it will develop a 
mental type that is versatile but shallow. Unquestionably 
this occurs so often that critics who make this charge against 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 2Q3 

ministers as a class have some show of justification. Does 
not the average minister, in the effort to respond to the nu- 
merous calls made upon him, learn something about a great 
many aspects of life, without acquiring a very thorough 
knowledge of any one of them ; dip into a great many sub- 
jects, without penetrating to the depths of any of them? 
Thus he comes to be a man of very varied but not very 
accurate information, a pleasant companion, an interesting 
" conversationalist," an excellent " entertainer " in the social 
circle, but unable to speak with authority upon any theme. 

2. The narrowing tendencies of his occupation. Not- 
withstanding the breadth of his specialty there are certain 
causes at work in his occupation that tend to cast him in a 
narrow mould. 

(i) There is a tendency to the habit of dogmatism. The 
preacher is appointed to deliver a message which he believes 
to be from God. Hence there must be a note of positive- 
ness, of certainty, of authority in his deliverances. He must 
often be dogmatic in utterance. From this arises a need 
for caution, lest he should fall into a habit of dogmatic ut- 
terance that is quite unjustifiable. 

In the first place, he should remember that he is delivering 
his understanding of the divine message. He is an inter- 
preter, and it is his interpretation which he is preaching. 
God's message, when one can be absolutely sure about it, 
should be proclaimed with the emphasis of finality. But the 
minister should never forget that his understanding of the 
divine will is always subject to error, and is never absolute. 
The divine will is always right and is not open to debate ; but 
how easily he may be mistaken as to what that will is, and 
especially as to its application to particular situations! 
However much he may insist upon the infallibility of the 
Bible, that is a quite different matter from his interpreta- 
tion of the Bible ; and the latter he certainly has no right to 
proclaim as the final and unquestionable truth. How easily 
and unconsciously some preachers err here! He should 
never forget that every human mind has its bias, which in- 



294 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

evitably and, for the most part, unconsciously determines 
where it will place the emphasis, what aspects of any sub- 
ject it will consider as primary or as unimportant, or en- 
tirely overlook; and that this bias of his own mind will 
determine in large measure the results of his thinking. In 
view of his inevitable limitations, can the preacher be sure 
enough of his message to justify intolerance? Intolerance 
has been a notable bane of the ministerial function in all 
ages. In this age particularly the preacher should be on his 
guard against it; for intolerance is especially offensive to 
men who live under modern conditions, which tend to de- 
velop the spirit of tolerance. No man can set himself up 
for an oracle now with a hope of impressing intelligent men 
with anything but his own egotism or fanatical folly. 

The tendency of the ministerial function toward intol- 
erance is strengthened by the fact that, according to the 
conventional conditions under which the preacher usually 
speaks, he " has the floor to himself." No reply is made to 
his utterances, certainly not at the time, and generally not 
at all. | His deliverances usually go without public chal- 
lenge. Rarely is he called upon to prove the truth of his 
declarations ; and this fact only imposes on his conscience the 
heavier obligation to be careful and cautious, to look on 
the other side, and to measure his words. Too often a 
preacher is insensible to this obligation of honour, and cul- 
tivates license in dogmatism and intolerance because the 
decorum proper to religious services leaves him an open 
field to deliver his own opinions as the unquestionable 
truth of God. Of course, he should not suffer his caution 
in this matter to render him weak in his religious convic- 
tions or negative, timid and doubtful in his utterance of 
them. But it should lead him to more patient and thorough 
study, a greater respect for differing points of view and a 
more humble consciousness of his limitations. 

Again, he sometimes has occasion to deal with matters 
about which he has some general information, but about 
which he can hardly be presumed to have special knowledge. 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 295 

In such matters especially he should beware lest he suffer 
the positiveness of utterance usual and permissible to him 
in the realm of his special knowledge to give a tone of 
offensive dogmatism to his statements. His deliverances on 
such questions are especially likely to be called in question ; 
and errors of fact or half-baked opinions stated with dog- 
matic cocksureness will discredit him in the eyes of all in- 
telligent people, and weaken the force of the genuine truth 
which he proclaims. Often he should make reference to 
such matters and he should by no means be timid and nerve- 
less in doing it; but let him lay aside his dogmatism, and 
above all his intolerance, when he is called upon to discuss 
such questions, and let him be sure of his facts, and patient 
and fair and cautious in presenting them. 

In a word, the preacher should strenuously strive against 
the habit of dogmatism which, by reason of the character of 
his message and the conditions under which he usually 
speaks, is so likely to grow upon him. If he should always 
be positive, sometimes dogmatic and, on rare occasions, even 
intolerant in utterance, let him seek sedulously never to 
fall into these attitudes simply through force of habit. His 
usual positiveness, occasional dogmatism and rare intoler- 
ance should always be the result of careful study and 
thought, and of profound conviction. The mere habit of 
positiveness has little value ; the habit of dogmatism has less ; 
the habit of intolerance is always positively offensive. 

(2) The tendency to a merely habitual and superficial 
gravity of tone and manner. The preacher is dealing almost 
continually with the most sacred things, the most solemn 
and awful realities — sin, salvation, the religious meaning 
of life, death, eternity, God. As a minister of the gospel 
he is " set apart " to study and explain these solemn realities 
and aspects of human experience, and guide men in their 
relations to them. It is natural, therefore, that he should 
have an extraordinary sense of the solemnity of life; and 
this is as it should be. The minister who is deficient in the 
conscious realization of the deeper issues of life is unfit to 



296 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

be a spiritual adviser of men. All the world feels contempt 
for the minister of religion who is given to levity. It is a 
sure sign that his character is shallow, and that he is simply- 
incapable of perceiving and feeling the moral and spiritual 
significance of living. But it is easy for him just through 
his familiarity with things regarded as peculiarly sacred to 
fall into the mere habit of gravity, going about with " a long 
face " and speaking in tones that quench the natural glad- 
ness of life which healthy people feel. Such a manner and 
tone when they become merely habitual are likely to become 
superficial and to indicate no longer real depth and sincerity 
of feeling; and when thus detached from reality they are 
ridiculous, if not disgusting and offensive, to those who are 
normally constituted. 

Moreover, the fact that he is " set apart " to the ministry 
will, if he is not careful, have a most unfortunate reaction 
upon his habitual bearing. What does this " setting apart " 
mean? Does it mean a sanctimonious isolation from the 
ordinary life of the people? Manifestly he is set apart 
from the ordinary occupations of men not in order that he 
may be detached from other men in sympathy, but rather 
for the very opposite reason — that he may, while giving 
more time to the study of the deeper issues of life and to 
direct communion with God, also enter more particularly 
and variously into sympathy with men in all the walks of 
life. Not that he may be specialized into aloofness from 
other men, but generalized into more universal community 
with them — this is the true meaning of his ordination to 
the ministry. The minister has often interpreted his " set- 
ing apart to the ministry " in the sense of separateness — 
as if thereafter he was to be one apart from his fellows, 
dwelling in a region above them and inaccessible to them; 
and with this is likely to go a subconscious assumption that 
he is no longer subject to the same motives and passions 
which influence other men, is neither to be judged by the 
same standards nor to receive the same treatment. This 
sense of abnormal separateness and aloofness has from old 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 297 

shown itself in the professional dress of the minister. The 
distinctive garb so often worn by him not only indicates this 
conception of himself, but also strengthens it. He would 
be more than human if the regular wearing of a distinctive 
dress did not subtilely react upon his consciousness. It is a 
visible advertisement; and however little observers may in 
their hearts respect the symbolical significance of the pecu- 
liar pattern of his clothes, it naturally, almost inevitably, 
affects their attitude toward him; nor does it affect their 
attitude toward him more than it does his attitude toward 
himself. It is an outward sign of the old, old spirit of 
priestcraft. And unfortunately the spirit of priestcraft is 
not yet dead. In some quarters it lingers in visible strength, 
and in others where it is weakening there is a distinct re- 
action, with an effort to revive it. The truth is that this 
conception of the ministry is so inveterate, so deeply im- 
bedded in the religious traditions of the world, and is so 
much in accord with certain persistent trends of human 
nature that the people are quite as responsible for its con- 
tinued survival as the ministers themselves. But all human 
experience demonstrates beyond reasonable question that 
when ministers of religion yield to this tendency and in their 
thought of themselves become detached from their fellow 
men, the inevitable result is that their official duties become 
perfunctory, their genuine spirituality decays and religion 
dry-rots. 

But notwithstanding this reactionary tendency, we must 
recognize that the general trend of modern life is in the 
opposite direction. In fact, the minister of habitual gravity, 
of solemn aloofness, is fast becoming a thing of the past, 
lingering yet in some backward communities, but rapidly 
disappearing in the more advanced. Modern life is not only 
more gladsome and optimistic but more rational and demo- 
cratic. Religious sentiments and ideals are undergoing a 
parallel transformation. The ministerial type is also chang- 
ing. The minister we have been describing was much more 
common in the olden time. Now he finds himself strangely 



298 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

out of place. The demand is for ministers of happy, sunny 
disposition. The pastor is expected to be cheerful, enter- 
taining, even in the pulpit, always so in the home except in 
the most serious crises of life ; and in the social circle he is 
expected to be the life of the group. His " long face/' if he 
have one, must be left in his study when he goes out among 
the people. Being himself under the same influences which 
have driven away the austere solemnity that shadowed the 
lives of men in the olden times, and responding to the 
popular demand for brightness and cheerfulness in men of 
his calling, he is coming to be an apostle of happiness, a man 
who brings with him joy and laughter. It is felt by many 
that the tendency in this direction is towards an extreme as 
unfortunate as his professional solemnity of former days. 
And certainly it is well that he should be careful and not 
suffer himself to become a mere entertainer, whose func- 
tion it is to make people feel pleasant and to provoke 
hilarity. Let it be said again, levity becomes him not. In 
order to prove that he is not " solemneholy," it is not neces- 
sary for him to degenerate into a teller of funny stories, a 
mere jester. Perhaps, however, for the majority of minis- 
ters the popular demand that they shall be buoyant and 
good-humoured will only serve as a corrective of the in- 
fluences that tend toward habitual and formal solemnity; 
and so yield us on the whole a healthy and soundly human 
type. 

(3) The preacher is concerned primarily and continually 
with the application of what seems to him to be the will of 
God to the actual lives of men. His conception of the will 
of God is the standard by which he is accustomed to measure 
the actions of men. He contemplates men as sinners, living 
in very imperfect conformity with the standard which he 
regards as divine, and as a consequence exposed to the 
divine condemnation, from which they can be rescued only 
by the gracious power of God. He is, or should be and 
naturally considers himself to be, an expert in moral pathol- 
ogy. Just as the expert physician looks at men with the 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 299 

eye of a physical pathologist and, therefore, sees many evi- 
dences of physical weakness and deficiency where ordinary 
people see none, just because he is judging every man in 
the light of an ideal physical manhood; so the preacher 
habitually regards men from the moral and spiritual point 
of view and measures them against his moral and spiritual 
ideal. 

Now, this ideal is likely to be far more influenced than 
he realizes by the fact that his function is, as a rule, per- 
formed in and through an institution, the church. Every 
institutionalized function tends to develop an ideal of life 
into which loyalty to the institution enters as a very im- 
portant factor; and the tendency is for that to become the 
chief factor in the ideal. For instance, the political leader 
comes quite naturally to judge the character of men by the 
standard of loyalty to the party. The jurist tends to have 
an exaggerated idea of the law as a standard of righteousness 
'and of conformity to the law as the criterion of character. 
It is also true of the business man. Likewise the minister 
may easily fall into the habit of judging men too much ac- 
cording to their attitude toward the church. His ideal of 
righteousness tends to become churchly. The man who 
attends church regularly, supports it with his means, and up- 
holds the minister in his eccelsiastical function, is the good 
man. His dereliction in other relations is likely to be min- 
imized. If in his church relations he is beyond criticism, 
does not the minister often treat his failures in other re- 
spects as venial ? Certainly the preacher's ideal of righteous- 
ness may, if he is not careful, be narrowed to the point of 
having its ethical vitality destroyed, by reason of the fact 
that he is engaged in an institutionalized function. Preach- 
ing can hardly cease to be an institutionalized function ; but 
the preacher should with all his might resist having his ideal 
standard of conduct whittled down to mere loyalty to an 
institution, even though that institution be the church. This 
charge is so often — and, it is to be feared, so truthfully — 
made against preachers that it is well to emphasize that he is 



300 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

only following a general trend of human nature in doing so 
— a trend which manifests itself just as often and just as 
objectionably in men of other occupations. But it is espe- 
cially sad and hurtful when preachers yield to this tendency ; 
for they are moral mentors and guides on whom devolves 
an exceptionally heavy responsibility. Nowhere will they 
find more inspiration to resist this narrowing tendency than 
in the example of their great Master. To a greater extent 
than many realize the tragedy of the life of Jesus grew out 
of his struggle against such a narrow and devitalized stand- 
ard of righteousness. 

But if the preacher be on his guard against this unfor- 
tunate tendency and cherish a higher and more vital stand- 
ard, the very practice of measuring actual life by an exalted 
standard may, and not infrequently does, produce in 
him a pessimistic view of the world; though such a 
tendency does not seem so strong with men of this 
class as with those whose ideal is cast in the narrow 
mould of " churchianity." The reason doubtless is that 
the influences of modern life are much more favourable 
to the larger, saner ethical ideal of religious life than to the 
formal ideal of churchliness. The man who cherishes the 
higher ideal is more likely to feel himself to be fighting with 
the trend of the age. Moreover, he feels himself to be more 
in harmony with God. But notwithstanding this, the en- 
thusiastic minister who contemplates the imperfections of 
actual moral achievement and the snail-like progress of the 
world in the light of a great and glowing ethical ideal will 
often need to resist a tendency to discouragement, and does 
not always escape the spiritual tragedy of crystallizing in a 
mental attitude of pessimism, which means the decadence 
of his power and finally the ending together of his useful- 
ness and of his spiritual vitality. The best preventives, and 
the best remedies, if the disease has been contracted, are a 
deeper sympathy with the mind of Jesus, a more vital real- 
ization of God's presence in the world, a closer and more 
sympathetic touch with the lives of his fellow men, A weak 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 301 

sense of the divine presence in the world is the source of 
much ministerial pessimism; ignorance of the past is the 
mother of much more ; and the rest may easily spring from 
a lack of sympathetic insight into the struggles and as- 
pirations of living men. In this age above all others pes- 
simism, gloominess of spirit, should be avoided by preachers, 
because it isolates them so completely from the generation 
in which they live. Modern life, as we have seen, is much 
more gladsome than the life of former times — a fact which 
is due in no small measure to better economic conditions 
and to a wide-spread and growing belief in the progress of 
the world, which is based upon a better knowledge of the 
past. 

(4) The preacher, along with persons engaged in several 
other occupations, lives in economic dependence. The work 
of this class of persons does in fact add to the material 
values of a community, and sometimes adds far more than 
they receive ; but it does so indirectly, and the value of their 
services to economic welfare is not always apparent to them 
or to others. But within this general group there are two 
classes. First, there are those whose services are engaged 
and paid for by individuals acting separately. Each in- 
dividual, whether a person or a corporation, requires only 
a portion of their time and energy. The physician, for in- 
stance, has his clients who as separate individuals engage 
his services, and the continuance of the relation depends 
alone upon the mutual satisfaction of the two. Likewise 
with the lawyer. Second, there are those whose entire 
energy and time are engaged by a single employer, whether 
a person or a corporation. Manifestly there is a wide dif- 
ference between the economic situation and relations of 
these two classes. As a rule, ministers belong to the latter 
class, though evangelists and those who do " occasional 
preaching " belong to the former ; and pastors who serve two 
or more churches occupy a middle ground between the two 
classes. We now have in mind pastors whose entire time 
is engaged by single churches, though much of what is said 



302 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

applies also to pastors whose time is divided between dif- 
ferent churches. 

But another important distinction is to be noted between 
ministers serving in denominations centrally organized and 
those belonging to denominations organized on the principle 
of local church autonomy. Economically the position of 
these two classes is in principle the same, though the prin- 
ciple applies differently in the two cases. In the centrally 
organized denominations the individual minister's imme- 
diate responsibility is to the central or controlling officials 
to whom primarily he must look for employment; in the 
denominations organized on the principle of local autonomy 
he must look for employment primarily to the local congre- 
gations. However, in the latter there are central officials of 
the general bodies who are called upon frequently to act as 
" go-betweens," although they are not appointed for this 
purpose ; while in the centrally organized denominations the 
trend is toward giving the local congregations a larger in- 
fluence in the selection and retention of their pastors. The 
principle, however it works in differently organized bodies, 
is that the individual minister is dependent for employment 
and economic welfare on some corporate body, whether it be 
a local congregation or a group of officials representing the 
denominational body, which officials are coming more and 
more to be merely the organs through which the local con- 
gregations make their wishes known and effective. 

Now, this situation usually exerts a potent influence in 
determining the habitual attitude and bearing of the minis- 
ter ; and it is no wonder. The constant pressure of a power- 
ful consideration like the necessity of providing bread and 
meat for oneself and one's family must profoundly influ- 
ence ordinary human beings. That from time to time in 
human history rare personalities have appeared who have 
risen above this consideration only brings out in relief the 
fact that it is an all but universal influence and one of the 
most fundamental and potent that affects our human nature. 
It may be said that ministers should be superior to it; but 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 303 

that is a requirement that as a class they should be 
spiritual heroes. It is an ideal, but a high and difficult ideal ; 
and the fact is that ordinarily it is not attained. The great 
majority of ministers are more or less influenced — if not 
consciously, then unconsciously — by the material consid- 
eration that they need an economic basis for their lives. 
They can secure this only by meeting with some measure of 
satisfaction the wishes of those who employ their services. 

Along with this goes another consideration which, whether 
it be superior to the one just mentioned or not, seems at 
any rate to be less material, and which weighs heavily with 
many ministers — the desire for appreciative recognition 
and promotion to positions of greater influence. To this 
also it may be felt that the man devoted to so holy a calling 
should be superior — and that we are far from disputing. 
The minister's distinction and promotion should come 
through the very humility and unselfishness of his service. 
But those who urge this should consider that such humility 
ought not by any means to be peculiar to him. To the 
Christian law of promotion through self -forgetful service 
all the followers of Christ are subject alike. Preachers are 
fashioned from the common clay of humanity; and it is to 
bring in by the back door, so to speak, the old notion of 
priestcraft if they are to be regarded as belonging to a dif- 
ferent order of beings from their fellow Christians. 

It can hardly be denied that the habitual mental attitude 
and personal bearing of the average minister is to a con- 
siderable extent moulded by these influences. If in these 
matters so important to his happiness he feels himself to 
be dependent upon higher ecclesiastical officials, it is useless 
to deny that there is a tendency for him to become sub- 
servient, fawning, a flatterer of his superiors ; if he avoids 
this depth of degradation, he is likely, at least, to seek, on 
the one hand, to avoid conflict with them ; and, on the other, 
to realize their specific requirements in his work. And 
even in the later case, his own personality is in some measure 
sacrificed. If in more democratically organized bodies he 



304 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

feels himself dependent in these important matters upon the 
pleasure of the local membership, he is constantly under the 
temptation to become a time-server, flattering his people, 
saying things he thinks they would like to hear, timid in 
exposing their faults, keeping sometimes his own deepest 
convictions and highest enthusiasms under the lid of a shame- 
ful silence until they lose their life. Especially is he in 
danger of an attitude of timidity with respect to the 
wealthier and more influential members. But he is con- 
scious of the importance of " keeping on the good side " of 
all, for even a comparatively insignificant person may by 
persistent agitation render his position untenable. 

The situation is complicated and rendered more difficult 
by the fact that he is supposed to be the spiritual leader of 
his people, and to exercise a high degree of moral authority 
over them. His function is not to follow. To be sure, he 
can not drive, he can not dictate. He can only advise and 
admonish ; and in doing this he can no longer, except among 
the backward and yet priest-ridden population, wield the 
potent weapon with which once the minister of religion 
coerced his spiritual subjects — his supposed control over 
their eternal destinies. Superstitious fear no longer affords 
a basis for his spiritual control. His admonition and per- 
suasion must be rational and backed by no forces except the 
x appeal of truth and the moral power of personality; and an 
essential element of this personal power is the conscious- 
ness of independence. The effective discharge of his func- 
tion of persuasive leadership requires that he should not ir- 
ritate the people by his manner or by insistence upon his 
petty personal notions ; and that he should avoid conflicting 
with their prejudices and tastes when no essential principle 
is involved. He should, of course, be adaptable, knowing 
how " to be all things to all men." There is no sacrifice of 
his independence in this ; though some preachers of small 
caliber seem to be able to find no larger and more fruitful 
way of asserting their independence than by refusing to 
adapt themselves to the prejudices and whims of their peo- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 305 

pie when no real principle is at stake. But independence is 
to be asserted in larger matters wherein principles are to be 
maintained ; and here the sense of economic dependence and 
the desire for popular favour may be fatally weakening. It 
is noteworthy that the great Apostle who made it a special 
point to cultivate adaptability to all sorts of people " that he 
might win some," was equally careful to maintain his 
economic independence. The argument does not touch the 
question as to the duty of the people to support their min- 
isters — that goes without saying ; but it is intended to 
stress the duty of the minister to guard jealously against 
the weakening of his consciousness of independence, and by 
consequence his moral leadership, through the desire for 
popularity and the sense of helpless economic dependence 
upon people whom he should persuade, admonish, rebuke 
and direct. 

Of course, I do not mean to imply that ministers are, or 
are in danger of becoming, a class of craven hirelings, who 
dare not assert their right to their own souls. Such charges 
are made by those who have little knowledge of preachers. 
But nevertheless let us not ignore the fact that the steady 
pressure of these economic needs and of the desire for pop- 
ular favour may have, and in innumerable cases does have, 
an unfortunate effect upon their habitual attitudes, of which 
they are hardly conscious. It is exactly the subconscious 
effects which are most dangerous. There are men of 
spiritual enthusiasm intense enough to neutralize the action 
of such influences, and a few men by the sheer innate 
strength of their personalities dominate their congregations, 
drawing around them people who are swayed by their 
" magnetism," repelling others who will not accept their 
leadership, and thus fashioning the ideals and determining 
the spirit of their churches. But with men of smaller 
mould the case is not so. Do not many of them sometimes 
solace themselves with the thought that they are following 
the example of the Apostle who " made himself all things 
to all men that he might win some," when in fact they are 



306 psychology and preaching 

yielding to the silent and continual pull of the considerations 
we have been discussing? And no man should assume that 
as a matter of course he is not being swayed by them. 
Theoretically it is probable that the majority of ministers 
are thus more or less influenced; and a close and un- 
prejudiced study of them seems to confirm the theoretical 
probability that these influences contribute to the formation 
of the ministerial type. " Let him that thinketh he standeth, 
take heed lest he fall." 

II. THE WAGE-EARNING TYPE 

The term " labouring man " needs exact definition. In 
the more narrow and definite sense a labouring man is one 
who is engaged in handling, for a wage, the implements or 
machinery of industry belonging to others. In a somewhat 
more indefinite sense of the words, the labouring class in- 
cludes all who do manual labour for a wage. In a yet 
wider and more indefinite sense, all are included who work 
for a wage. A wage, of course, must be distinguished from 
a salary. A " wage " is the remuneration given those who 
do those forms of work which we feel to be more menial, 
and paid at very short intervals. A salary is a more 
dignified form of compensation than a wage. Many a sal- 
aried worker whose work is far less important and respon- 
sible than that of the wage-earner would nevertheless scorn 
to be classed with the latter. 

In this discussion the phrase, labouring men, is used in 
the narrowest and most definite sense, though much that 
will be said applies just as well, perhaps, to the wider classes 
of labourers mentioned. 

The importance of the labouring class is increasing with 
the growth of industry, the more extensive use of machinery 
and the more highly complex and varied forms of 
machinery. The class is growing fast in numbers notwith- 
standing the fact that mechanical invention is striving con- 
tinually to reduce the number of operatives required for a 
given output of production. The rapid differentiation of 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 2>°7 

modern industry and the increasing consumption of goods, 
which results from the astonishing accumulation of wealth 
and the constantly rising standards of living, more than 
overcome, it seems, the tendency to the economy of human 
labour ; and as a consequence the labouring class is a steadily 
enlarging one. The problems of that class are coming to 
be the most acute in our present-day civilization. The con- 
sciousness of this fact is evident in our political life, and 
not a whit less so in our religious life. The problem of the 
labouring man is a most imperative challenge to the 
preacher. If our preaching can not win him to a religious 
life, it is a failure in one of its most important tasks. If 
the preacher and the labouring man are drifting farther 
apart, as is so frequently alleged, it means that the ministry 
is unsuccessful in the effort to relate its message vitally to 
the most acute problem of our age. Surely the situation is 
grave enough to call for a most careful study of the labour- 
ing man from the homiletical point of view. 

i. Consider the conditions of his life as affecting his in- 
tellectual development. 

(i) As to his work. 

(a) His labour is physical. It requires comparatively 
few thought reactions in his brain, but develops quite dis- 
proportionately the motor centres and tends to form certain 
fixed habits of physical movement. It is long continued and 
exhausting. The margin of leisure is small and the margin 
of surplus energy is equally so. His work has, therefore, 
not only given him little preparation for intellectual occupa- 
tion or entertainment in his brief leisure, but has in consid- 
erable measure positively unfitted him for it. Furthermore, 
as industry becomes more extensive and machinery more in- 
tricate, the tasks of labour are more and more subdivided, 
and each individual gives his attention to a more limited proc- 
ess or phase of a process. Hence, in his labour he is not 
required to think the whole process. His intellectual fac- 
ulties lack, therefore, even the stimulation that would come 
from " thinking together " or correlating all parts of the 



308 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

general process in which he is engaged. One may question 
whether his opportunities in this respect are inferior to those 
of workers who in the days of handicraft were not so nar- 
rowly specialized. Probably they are not; for both the 
handicraftsman and the more specialized tender of a limited 
machine process soon become quite familiar with the move- 
ments involved, and as the movements become habitual they 
cease to engage acute attention, since all habitual processes 
inevitably drop below the level of clear consciousness. It 
is only when the machine goes wrong or the tool is acci- 
dentally mishandled that the labourer becomes fully con- 
scious of his activity. At the same time the necessity of 
overlooking the machine or handling the tool accurately 
prevents his becoming absorbed in thought on any other 
subject. His mind must hover near the machine or tool, 
though neither gives any vigorous occupation to his mind. 
Attention, thought, is but little required. How habitual, 
monotonous, uninteresting such an occupation becomes may 
readily be imagined ! We must remember that the develop- 
ment of the brain areas connected with the intellectual 
processes is, other things being equal, in proportion to the 
number, variety and intensity of the stimulations to thought 
to which one is called on to respond. Consciousness must 
be constantly focalizing upon objects, upon different objects, 
and this must be done intensely, in order that the associa- 
tional areas of the brain be highly developed in capacity 
and fully correlated in their activity. The labouring man 
at his work may be said to live ordinarily in a state of dif- 
fused consciousness, i.e., his consciousness is usually not 
intense because his actions are performed under the control 
of habit. 

It may be said, indeed, that his work is throughout an 
application or embodiment of thought. But the thought is 
not his, except in a secondary sense as he makes the 
thought of another his own while giving it material form ; 
and as stated above, he thinks, or needs to think, the process 
in only a limited way. It is his to do only the mechanical 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 30O, 

part in the embodiment of thought ; but even this has some 
intellectual value and saves his work from utter mental bar- 
renness. However, the intellectual and the mechanical 
parts of the process of embodying thought in material forms 
are becoming more and more highly specialized and differ- 
entiated with the further application of machinery to pro- 
duction. The designer, who is likely to be a " salaried " 
person, formulates the idea of the thing to be made, and the 
machine does the rest, it being only necessary to have a man 
watch the machine and keep it in working order — which 
as we have seen requires no great mental activity. 

(b) The labouring man deals in his work only with the 
material forms of reality. He handles wood, iron, earth. 
His machine or his tool is a material thing and shapes 
material things. He has no direct dealing with life in any 
of its forms. It is the relations and reactions of dead mat- 
ter with which he is concerned. Mechanical forces, proc- 
esses and results occupy him. Not the transmutation of 
lifeless matter into living forms, not the relations to and 
reactions upon one another of living things, not the watch- 
ing and guidance of the mysterious principle of life in its 
growth; not the endless, various and fascinating play of 
ideas in the construction of arguments, in discussion, in in- 
vention, in the building of systems of thought, in the creation 
of beautiful ideals — none of these things is the object of 
his attention in his work, none of these is involved in the 
processes of his work. Crude matter, physical forces, 
mechanical processes — these are the elements with and 
upon which he works. 

Here we must emphasize a principle which psychologists 
have not stressed as they should. Those things are most 
real to a man to which he spends most of his time and 
energy adjusting himself. One can get a lively sense of the 
reality of anything only by adjusting himself to it in some 
way or other — by working with and upon it; and those 
things which he spends most of his time and energy work- 
ing with and upon will inevitably have for him an emphatic 



3IO PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

reality, so to speak, which other things can not in the nature 
of the case have. This is a well accepted principle of the 
science of education; and it has far-reaching implications. 
This is why the supersensible world of ideas and systems of 
ideas is so real and engaging to the philosopher and not so 
to other men. This is why God and the spiritual world are 
so vitally real to the saint and such shadowy realities to most 
other men. But we need not multiply illustrations of a prin- 
ciple so nearly self-evident. Apply it to the case in hand. 
Is it not manifest that to the labourer, engaged as we have 
indicated, matter must have a reality which less obvious 
things of life and mind can not possibly have? Is not the 
tendency toward materialism of the crudest type inevitably 
inherent in the very nature and conditions of his work? 
This is an aspect of our " social problem " which is worthy 
of the attention of every thoughtful man. And above all 
other men it should be chiefly interesting to the preacher. 

(c) Relatively speaking, the labouring man works in a 
social vacuum. The occupations vary greatly as to the 
number and value of the social contacts involved in their 
pursuit. Some kinds of work require an isolation almost 
total while the workers are engaged in them ; others require 
frequent and varied contacts with men. And this is of the 
greatest importance in determining the value of an occu- 
pation as a means of personal development. When we re- 
member that personality develops chiefly, if not exclusively, 
in and by means of social contacts, the reaction of persons 
upon one another, it becomes obvious that the work which 
involves social isolation is of the least value in this respect. 
Being insulated from his fellows, the workingman is de- 
prived of all that stimulation which comes from the meet- 
ing: of men, and from which is derived so much of the 
quickening of the human mind. Of course, his isolation is 
not absolute. In some of these occupations the men work 
in companies, or " gangs," and the mere presence of one's 
fellows has some value, because, first, it prevents loneli- 
ness, and, second, renders possible concerted habitual move- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 3II 

ments or the correlation of successive movements; and the 
work is thereby made easier and more pleasant. But such 
contact has only a minimum of intellectual value. Fre- 
quently the workingman is fenced off by prohibitions — 
no one must speak to him. " Don't talk to the motorman." 
The worker is not to engage in conversation with his fel- 
low workmen, unless some exigency should require consul- 
tation; and outsiders are forbidden to approach him. And 
were there no such prohibitions, the nature of the work 
usually renders conversation impracticable. From eight to 
twelve hours out of the twenty-four, according to the length 
of his " day," he dwells in a social vacuum. The merchant, 
the banker, the lawyer, the physician, the minister, are, in and 
by their work, brought into stimulating contact with their fel- 
low men. They work in a tonic social medium. The higher 
brain centres are developed by these numerous and varied 
stimuli. But for the period of his work the workingman 
is often almost as lonely as Robinson Crusoe without his 
man Friday. He has his machine or tool, his monotonous 
muscular movements, which soon become semi-conscious ; 
and his imagination is forbidden to wander far from a work 
which, though uninteresting, tethers his mind while it affords 
no mental stimulation. Such an occupation manifestly has 
little value for the development of his personality; and in 
this respect stands in sharp contrast with many other forms 
of work. Sometimes the minister or the merchant or the 
manufacturer will say in response to the labourer's demand 
for shorter hours : " I work ten hours a day ; why should 
the labourer always be clamouring for a shorter day ? " It 
is an utterly thoughtless remark, and absolutely ignores the 
essential differences in the nature and conditions of various 
forms of work. 

(2) So much for the actual labour which he performs. 
Let us now consider the relation of his leisure to his intel- 
lectual life. We need to enquire both as to its length and 
as to the use which he ordinarily makes of it. As nearly as 
I can ascertain the average working day in this country is 



312 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

about nine and a half hours. Allowing nine hours for eating 
and sleeping, we are safe in assuming that the average 
labouring man has approximately five and a half hours of 
leisure. Within this time he must satisfy his domestic in- 
stincts in association with his family, his social craving for 
contact with his fellows, his normal desire for recreation of 
some sort, and whatever appetite he may have for reading. 
His social craving will be strong, because this fundamental 
and ineradicable instinct has had little opportunity for satis- 
faction in the course of his work — has rather been starved ; 
but the circle of companionship within which it must be 
gratified will surely have little in it to stimulate the intellect 
or to refine the taste. A brain deadened by the uninterest- 
ing monotony of his labour and unstimulated by quickening 
social contacts will not likely be impelled toward literature 
by an intense hunger for knowledge. 

If he belongs to a labour union that proves to be his chief 
intellectual school. There he finds much satisfaction of 
his social desires, and there he comes in contact with the 
most vigorous and thoughtful personalities among his com- 
peers. Through that medium he becomes acquainted with 
the literature that relates to the most obvious interests of 
his life. The discussions in which he there participates 
are crude enough, to be sure, and the literature through 
which his mind is brought into contact with the great 
world, though often strong and keen in thought, is very- 
narrow in its general outlook. As his daily labour is linked 
with tools and machinery and the material things which they 
are transforming, so the discussions and the literature deal 
with the material concerns of his life. But limited and 
crude as it is, the educational function of the union is of 
inestimable value to him and is the chief agency by which 
any intellectual stimulation comes to awaken thought and 
afford a basis for the higher development of his personality. 

It must also be borne in mind that the labouring man 
usually lives in a city. Cities are great complex social ag- 
gregates. There life is most highly differentiated, most 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 313 

various, most stimulating. There the heights and depths of 
life are visible; there its infinite varieties thrust themselves 
upon the attention. The labouring man has some touch, 
even though it be a minimum touch, with that vast com- 
plexity of life ; and his intellect is, in some measure, stimu- 
lated by it — though it also exposes him to moral tempta- 
tions which are peculiarly adapted to appeal to his weak- 
nesses and too often lead him to the ruin of all life's values. 

II. We need not dwell long upon the effect of his life- 
conditions on the development of the emotional side of his 
personality. The emotional life is limited by the range and 
variety of one's experiences. Each experience excites in us 
some feeling. The greater the number and variety of these 
experiences, the greater the number and variety of emo- 
tional responses. Everything we see, hear, touch, read, 
think, do, has its reverberation, so to speak, in the feelings. 
The man who is able to travel much, to move through 
various circles of society, to have frequent contact with 
many varieties of his fellow men, to see nature in many of 
its ever-changing aspects and moods, to read widely and to 
bring together ideas from several realms of knowledge, to 
contemplate works of art appreciatively — he will have a 
correspondingly rich, varied and delicately shaded emotional 
life. Now, it is exactly in these respects that the labouring 
man's life is so poor and narrowly limited. Hence the 
poverty of his emotional life. It is necessarily crude. We 
should naturally expect what we actually see — a full de- 
velopment of the fundamental, crude emotions, with but lit- 
tle of the delicacy and refinement of sentiment or " socialized 
emotion," as it has been called, which is one of the richest 
and most precious fruits of culture. 

Moreover, the inhibitive power of the mind, which is de- 
pendent upon a strong organization of the upper brain cen- 
tres — the power to arrest impulse and control emotion, 
which is the sign-manual, so to speak, of high personality — 
is necessarily deficient in him. How should it be otherwise? 
As compared with those whose life-conditions tend to de- 



314 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

velop the intellectual and inhibitive mental functions, he is 
impulsive, easily loses mental equilibrium under the stress 
of high emotion, is mobbish in disposition and likely to be 
unrestrained and violent in the expression of feeling. 

III. It is even more important to study his ethical pecu- 
liarities as determined by the conditions of his life. The 
conditions which react so powerfully upon his intellectual 
and emotional life must have an important determining 
effect on his morality. Whatever may be one's theory of 
the origin of the moral sense, nobody will maintain that its 
genesis is to be found in the experiences of the personal life ; 
but it certainly is indefinitely modified in its strength and 
activity by the practices and habits of personal life. Per- 
sonal habits may blunt the keenness of moral perception, 
pervert it, give it a onesided development ; and thus in gen- 
eral determine the characteristics of the moral life. Study- 
ing the life of the labouring man from this point of view, we 
see what we have every reason to expect, that in the primary 
virtues of truth and kindness he is quite the peer of his fel- 
low men. His life-conditions tend to develop these funda- 
mental virtues in him as strongly as they are developed in 
other men, possibly somewhat more strongly. Jane Addams 
has called attention to the kindness of the poor to one 
another, 1 and no one is better equipped by experience, sym- 
pathy and scientific insight to interpret their lives. Though 
the labourer deals with reality in its crudest forms, as we 
have pointed out, it seems certain that the handling of phys- 
ical things is as good a discipline as one can have in what 
we may call the truth-habit. Physical things do not lie; 
they act according to their laws; they do not deceive, and 
you can not deceive them. But without going into any over- 
refinements, it is sufficient to say that lying is a social vice 
which arises in the effort to mislead other men, and the 
labouring man's limited social relations and constant em- 
ployment with physical things afford, at most, few oppor- 
tunities to serve oneself by lying. 

1 " Democracy and Social Ethics," pp. 19-22. 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 315 

There are, however, certain moral dangers which arise 
from the labouring man's situation. The constant overtax 
of his body, the dreary monotony of his work, the lack of 
mental stimulation in it, and all too frequently his under- 
feeding, render him an especially easy victim of the tempta- 
tion to strong drink. Here is a vital point at which the 
drink problem is connected with our industrial system, a 
matter which is sometimes overlooked by temperance re- 
formers. Weary in body, vacant in mind, he is too apt to 
seek in the saloon the social contact which he craves, and in 
alcohol the stimulation for his nervous system which has 
been taxed near to the point of exhaustion in its motor 
centres and left unstimulated in its higher, inhibitive func- 
tions.; and so into the hell of drunkenness he too often 
plunges, both pushed and pulled by forces arising from the 
conditions under which his life must be spent. 

We must consider, also, the demoralizing effect of ir- 
regularity of employment. Students of economics stress the 
evils resulting from unemployment and irregular employ- 
ment, which they find to be caused mainly by economic mal- 
adjustment. " Even in such fat years as 1899, 1900, 1901, 
it appears, the average trade unionist loses one out of every 
five or six working days." x Booth in his " Life and 
Labours in London " (quoted in Adams and Sumner) says: 
" The irregularity immediately resulting from fluctuations 
in demand, seasons and other causes is a sufficiently serious 
evil in itself, but other results, as serious, if not more so, 
follow in its track. Casual employment is found almost 
invariably to involve deterioration in both the physique and 
character of those engaged in it. . . . The hopeless hand- 
to-mouth existence into which they thus tend to drift is of 
all things least conducive to thrift ; self-reliance is weakened, 
and habits of idleness, unsteadiness and intemperance are 
formed. . . . The effects of such casual work are even 
more marked in the next generation." " The curse of the 
American workingman," say Adams and Sumner, " is ir- 

1 Adams and Sumner, " Labor Problems," p. 165. 



316 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

regular employment." Its general effect upon personality 
must be seriously demoralizing. It might be cynically re- 
marked that it adds to his leisure, for which he so stren- 
uously contends; but it does not do so in such a way as to 
lead to a regular use of leisure for cultural purposes. It is 
exceedingly depressing and dissipating, increases anxiety, 
induces recklessness, and tends towards moral disintegra- 
tion generally. 

Moreover, there is an ethical limitation set for him by 
his life-conditions. His class consciousness is intense. 
This, it seems, can not be otherwise. With the possible ex- 
ception of the very rich, the labouring men constitute the 
most clearly defined class in our society. The interests and 
life-problems of this class are of the most urgent kind. 
Those interests are, indeed, fundamental, and under their 
pressure the labourers are being irresistibly compacted and 
welded into a distinct social group. On the basis of those 
interests it is simply inevitable that there should grow up a 
class consciousness which must in the nature of things be 
more and more accentuated by all the rapidly developing 
conditions of our industrial life. It is worse than useless to 
scold the labourers for it. They simply can not help it ; and 
to denounce them for it only promotes it, and at the same 
time betrays a singular lack of insight into the sociological 
laws that are at work around us. This class consciousness 
is growing extensively, for labouring men are coming more 
and more to realize their essential community of interests. 
Their labour organizations — an absolute necessity for their 
economic salvation — promote and must promote it. It 
must also develop intensively. Every economic struggle, 
whether successful or unsuccessful, must inevitably leave 
the class consciousness stronger. Class consciousness is 
only the realization of a community of interests by a number 
of persons. It will be strong in proportion as those interests 
are felt to be vital, and in proportion as they are felt to be 
menaced. The clash of class with class inevitably deepens it. 
There are only two possible ways to dissipate it. One is to 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 317 

satisfy those interests which by a universal law of human 
nature give rise to it ; the other is absolutely to crush out the 
group. The latter alternative is not likely to be undertaken. 

Now, the ethical life is conditioned by the group con- 
sciousness, both extensively and intensively. One's con- 
sciousness of obligation does not extend beyond the limits 
of his group consciousness. If there is no fellow-feeling, no 
" consciousness of kind," there is no sense of obligation to 
another. Likewise as this group consciousness grows in- 
tense or becomes attenuated, the feeling of obligation be- 
comes more or less imperative or positive. I am not now 
speaking of the ultimate nature and basis of moral obliga- 
tion but of the sphere in which the obligation, whatever its 
nature and basis, is felt to be operative. And, subjectively 
considered, moral obligation begins with, ends with, and 
varies in strength with our consciousness of community of 
life. Furthermore, it is a fact of which there are innum- 
erable examples in everyday life that whenever any one 
group-feeling becomes intensified or inflamed, it tends to 
dominate consciousness and to dwarf or exclude every con- 
trary sense of obligation which may grow out of any other 
group relation in which one may stand. For instance, we 
have a common race consciousness with a limited group, 
and we have a common consciousness of humanity with a 
much wider group; but if the race consciousness has been 
greatly intensified or violently inflamed it tends to dwarf or 
to drown out completely the obligations of humanity, or 
vice versa. We often witness the appalling fact that when 
different social classes clash and grip each other in a vital 
conflict, every broader and more humane consideration 
which ordinarily controls or modifies the actions of those 
involved is neglected; and then we have in very truth a 
death struggle. 

How these laws of our moral experience apply in the 
matter we are discussing is apparent. We behold the fact 
which so often startles us that labouring men when engaged 
in a combat with capital will, because of their impulsiveness 



318 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

and because of the inflammation of their class conscious- 
ness, commit violence against property or persons, or at any 
rate look with only half-hearted protest upon such acts when 
committed in their interest. And with equal truth it may 
be said that capitalists are frequently guilty of acts of op- 
pression and cruelty which are not a whit less offensive to 
our common humanity. To be sure, they are not ^so likely 
to resort to personal violence, for two reasons — first, they 
are usually more highly developed in personality and more 
self-controlled; second, they have money and can hire ruf- 
fians to do acts of violence for them, or are as a rule in con- 
trol of the machinery of the law and can use the force of 
the State to overcome their antagonists. 

The labouring class are bent upon securing a larger share 
of the products of industry. This demand is in the very 
focus of their class consciousness. Around it their 
thoughts, ambitions, struggles revolve. The literature they 
read deals with it. The discussions to which they most fre- 
quently and most interestedly listen and in which they take 
part have this for their principal subject matter. Is it any 
wonder that they thus tend to become materialistic in their 
ideals? For our ideals, if they do not have their roots in 
the group relations in which we stand, are most certainly 
modified by them. Are not our ideals mental projections 
above and beyond us of the interests we are seeking to 
realize? No man can seriously cherish an ideal which does 
not receive its form and content from the interest which is 
habitually in the focus of his consciousness. This is true 
both of the personal and the social ideals toward which one 
strives. We should expect, therefore, that the labouring 
man would become materialistic in his philosophy of 
society, seeing in the economic interest the determining fac- 
tor in social evolution and in the general satisfaction of 
physical wants the true goal of social progress. 

IV. These conditions necessarily react powerfully upon 
his religious life. That his religious conceptions are crude, 
as the inevitable result of his low mental development, goes 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 319 

without saying. In his emotional life he most readily re- 
sponds to the cruder stimuli. In so far, therefore, as the 
religious motives appeal to him they must be mainly of that 
sort ; and his emotional responses are likely to be correspond- 
ingly impulsive, demonstrative, unregulated. 

But of far more consequence is the fact that, on account 
of the materialization of his ideals, he is drifting beyond the 
appeal of spiritual religion; for religion must reach a man 
through his ideals. Furthermore, he is drifting out of sym- 
pathy with organized religion in general ; for he is persuaded 
— and with some measure of truth, it must be confessed — 
that organized religion stands for the present industrial 
order. I am quite disposed to believe those who assure us 
that a reaction has set in; but if it be true, it is because 
organized religion gives some evidence of changing its at- 
titude. The injustice of the present industrial system is 
the uppermost fact in the consciousness of an increasing 
number of wage earners. Organized religion has come to 
appear to many of them as an institution maintained by the 
economic class by which they feel themselves to be ex- 
ploited ; and maintained for the purpose of reconciling them 
to the exploitation. Believing themselves to be the victims 
of an unrighteous economic arrangement, their attitude of 
hostility to the church springs both from their most keenly 
felt material interest and their sense of righteousness. 
Now, when conscience and material interest conflict, as they 
so often do, the result is a more or less unstable attitude; 
but when these two powerful forces combine to determine a 
man's attitude the result is a positiveness and aggressive- 
ness which have to be seriously reckoned with. Conscience 
and material interest pulling together are a powerful team. 
My purpose here is not to discuss whether, or to what ex- 
tent, this attitude is justifiable; nor to offer suggestions as 
to how the situation is to be remedied and the disastrous 
breach is to be healed; but merely to trace its genesis and 
to indicate how, by natural sequence, it results from the 
labourer's life conditions. It seems to me that it is the almost 



320 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

inevitable psychological outcome of those conditions. The 
more seriously this situation is studied, the less will it appear 
to be the result of mere perversity or depravity on the part 
of the labouring class; on the contrary, the more clearly 
will it appear to be the spiritual resultant of social condi- 
tions which the labourers themselves are striving to abolish, 
somewhat impulsively and blindly, we grant, but with a 
strenuous earnestness which is not lacking in ethical enthu- 
siasm. For preachers and churches in general it creates a 
problem of the utmost importance. Before it is solved it 
will require a thoroughgoing restudy of the whole ethical and 
social content of Christianity. If Christianity has a prac- 
tical word to say on this subject, if it offers a solution, or 
can put the thought of this age into a path that leads to a 
solution, it is certain that it will be able to secure a sym- 
pathetic hearing from the class that has been so seriously 
alienated. But it will not be easy. The labouring men have 
come to think of the problem of their lives in terms of this 
world. And they can not be won back to allegiance to Chris- 
tianity, i.e., organized Christianity, by a promise of compen- 
sation, in the world to come, for what they regard as mani- 
fest wrongs which the church will not antagonize here. 

It is manifest that the economic situation has become at 
heart a spiritual problem. Go deep enough into it, and you 
always strike a spiritual core. The demand is not that the 
church shall leave her proper sphere and busy herself with 
issues that are foreign to her mission ; but that she shall un- 
dertake to grapple with and solve a problem which has 
arisen within her proper sphere, and which has its roots in 
the life conditions of those to whom she is commissioned to 
minister. It may be improper for the church, a spiritual 
institution, to invade an alien territory and undertake to set 
things right there ; but the fact is that the economic forces 
have invaded the spiritual realm and are working havoc 
there. It is surely a significant phenomenon that there is 
today a growing hostility towards the church within the very 
class among whom the Lord of the church found his most 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 321 

sympathetic hearers. And how can the modern preacher 
claim to represent his Master, if that class turns from him 
in the conviction that he is blind to the inequitable conditions 
which are breeding spiritual disaster, or is afraid to speak 
out when he sees them? 

III. THE BUSINESS TYPE 

For the purpose of this discussion, business may be de- 
fined as the direction of industry in the production and 
distribution of material goods. The business man may be 
simply a capitalist, an investor, who stands at some distance 
from the actual conduct of the industry; or he may be re- 
lated to it both as investor and director; or he may be the 
manager of a corporate industry ; or he may be manager of 
a subordinate department of such an industry; or he may 
be conducting a small business in which he is the sole, or 
chief investor, and of which he is the executive head. If in 
any shape or form he has the direction of industry, he may 
be classed as a " business man." 

But here a distinction must be noted which we shall have 
to bear in mind throughout the discussion. The manage- 
ment or direction of business corporations is to be broadly 
differentiated from the conduct of an individual business. 
The partnership is an intermediate or transitional form. 
The more deeply one meditates upon it, the more clearly 
will he perceive the far-reaching significance of this distinc- 
tion. It is not so apparent nor so significant when the cor- 
poration is a small one, though the distinction is real even 
then; but when the corporation becomes very large it is 
obvious and impressive. In corporations the relations in- 
volved become extensive and decidedly more impersonal. 
In an individual business the relations between the business 
man and his employees and customers are definitely personal. 
To be sure, as the individual business becomes large and 
complex the relations involved lose much of their personal 
character ; but at the same time the business tends to assume 
the corporate form, and especially to use corporate methods. 



322 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

The distinction between the individual and corporate forms 
of business is important for this discussion because they tend 
to produce somewhat different mental types, and the larger 
the corporate business becomes the more pronounced is the 
differentiation. The man of " big business " is a definite 
and extremely significant species of the genus " business 
man," and is, it seems to me, the logical though somewhat 
exaggerated development of the type which corporate ac- 
tivity, so characteristic a feature of our time, tends to pro- 
duce. And yet an undue emphasis on this distinction would 
not be consistent with the purpose we have here in mind, 
which is to bring out those broad mental characteristics 
which are common to business men of all grades. 

I. Consider the importance of the business man. In the 
early ages of the world he was either non-existent, or insig- 
nificant and despised. Under the system of strict clan 
economy business men did not exist as a differentiated 
class ; under the system of domestic, or household, economy 
the class began to develop, and the business men were 
mostly travelling salesmen who went hither and thither, 
generally in groups, wherever the danger was not too great, 
and carried with them the goods they had for sale. The 
pedlar is a survival of that early type. Under the system of 
town economy, which followed, manufactures in the literal 
sense of the term developed, business grew in volume, and 
the men engaged in it increased in importance. As the sys- 
tem of national economy grew up on the basis of the town 
system, the business men came to figure largely in public 
estimation. Today we live in a world economy ; the manu- 
facture and exchange of goods have assumed enormous pro- 
portions and absorbed the energies of a large proportion of 
the people ; the direction of industry offers a very great and 
attractive field for personal achievement and the winning of 
fortune and distinction, and requires ability of a high order. 
It is quite impossible to foresee any limit to this economic 
development. Certainly it is drawing into its service larger 
volumes of human energy every day. Men are now enam- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 323 

oured of the great task of mastering nature and organizing 
natural forces in the service of human need. Each new 
advance in this movement opens to view yet greater pos- 
sibilities. In the meantime the economic organization has 
seemed to become a vast and powerful system, independent 
of the individuals engaged in it, which masters and moulds 
the multitudes of men whom it draws into its varied ac- 
tivities. 1 Business men have come naturally in this business 
age to be the dominant class in society. This is true even 
in Europe, where the stratification of society based on the 
Feudal System yet persists, and is coming to be so even in 
the Orient, so recently invaded by modern ideas and 
methods. In the United States the evolution of the business 
man into the personage of dominant power is most com- 
plete. 

In politics it is a recognized fact that no man can hope to 
be elected to any office of importance who has the business 
men opposed to him. Politics are more and more concerned 
with economic questions ; and in one way or another business 
is so closely connected with political organization, manage- 
ment and aims that politics might not unfairly be called a 
branch of business. The money which corporations expend 
in political activity is a regular item in their expense ac- 
count. A policy that hurts business is on that account con- 
demned ; if it encourages and fosters business, that is the 
end of controversy. In the State, business rules, and that 
means that business men are the ruling class. But is it not 
equally true in the church? In the local church business 
men dominate in fact, whether they do in form or not ; and 
in general denominational affairs their influence is tran- 
scendant whenever they feel enough interest to bring it to 
bear. The local congregation and the general ecclesiastical 
body have to be financed in all their enterprises, and church 
enterprises, whether local or general, and especially the lat- 
ter, are projected on an ever larger scale; which means that 
the financial liberality of business men must be relied on 

1 See Sombart's " Der Bourgeois," p. 446, ff. 



324 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

more and more. But he who holds the purse strings wields 
the power in any enterprise which must be financed. It is 
claimed by many observers that we have entered a period of 
plutocracy in religious affairs, as well as in politics. But it 
is not the purpose to discuss that question here. The fact 
to which attention is called seems to be an inevitable inci- 
dent of the trend of things in this age ; and is mentioned here 
not for the purpose of dwelling upon its social and spiritual 
implications, but in order to emphasize the importance for 
the preacher, as well as for all other social leaders, of un- 
derstanding the modern business type of mind. 

2. What are the characteristics of that type ? 

(1) Let us consider the intellectual characteristics. 

In the first place, the typical business man is keen and 
alert. He must be so or he will soon cease to be a business 
man, in the proper sense of the word,' and become the em- 
ploye of some man who has these mental qualities. It is 
possible, of course, to refer to individual cases in which 
men who are slow and dull in mind are, by reason of pecu- 
liar conditions, able to maintain the status of business men ; 
but when closely studied these apparent exceptions will only 
prove the rule. The business man is often dealing with 
conditions which are complex, changeful and urgent. Suc- 
cess requires quick, clear insight, rapid analysis of the sit- 
uation into its incidental and essential features, the instant 
seizing of the main point and prompt decision. If his intel- 
lectual operations are unreliable Or too slow, the penalty is 
that he drops from among the directors of industry. He 
can not afford to nod at his post ; he must " keep his eyes 
open " and his wits about him. And not only does success 
presuppose a considerable measure of these intellectual 
qualities ; practice develops them. The intensifying compe- 
tition of modern business, the continually quickening pace in 
the whole economic sphere and the growing complexity of 
the conditions with which the business man must deal make 
it more and more imperative that he shall possess and cul- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 325 

tivate mental alertness and discrimination. A relentless 
process of economic selection is ever going on. 

In the second place, it is equally true that the typical busi- 
ness man's intellectual life is quite limited in range. His 
intellectual views and habits are formed for the most part 
in first-hand dealings with men and things. Too often he is 
educated in business and by business only. To be sure, an 
increasing number of business men are college bred; even 
the university man is not so much a vara avis among them 
as he used to be. And so a larger proportion of men of this 
class have been brought into some acquaintance with the 
wider ranges of intellectual life than was ever the case 
before. But even they usually succumb to the mental 
habits developed by " the street " ; settle down to the dis- 
tinctive point of view of business, and lose all lively interest 
in the intellectual problems not directly involved in the ur- 
gencies of their daily lives. That tendency is quite natural, 
just as it is with men in every other walk of life; and yet 
it is probable that in most lines of business the pressure is so 
high, the possibilities of failure so numerous, and the ma- 
terial rewards of success so alluring to average human na- 
ture, that his work monopolizes the energies of the business 
man to an exceptional degree, and thus sets very definite 
limits to his intellectual outlook, while stimulating power- 
fully his intellectual processes within those limits. For 
this reason the mental processes and habits of his occu- 
pation become more deeply stamped in, and the point of 
view of his occupation more fixed than is the case with 
most other men. 

In the third place, the business man is little given to 
theorizing. He is absorbed in dealing with living persons, 
concrete things, actual situations that are constantly chang- 
ing. Perforce he must cultivate the opportunist habit of 
mind. From one day's end to another he is engaged in 
measuring the strength and direction of the more obvious 
and objective forces that are playing about him, and has little 
time for inquiring into their ultimate origin, history and 



326 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

final goal. He is in the thick of the fray; he does not 
occupy a detached position of passionless observation, 
where he can speculate, correlate, theorize. In fact he fails 
to appreciate the value of theory; he is not likely to have 
much regard for the theory of business itself. His ideas 
of men and things are such as grow up, without philosophical 
reflection, as a net result of the actual tussle of business 
dealing with them. Normally his mind moves in the region 
of proximate or secondary causes. Rarely does he make 
the effort to penetrate to primary causes ; or if he does, sec- 
ondary are apt to appear to him to be primary causes. 
Whatever may be the ultimate explanation of any state of 
things, it must, so he reasons, be dealt with here and now ; 
and when the practical adjustment is found, his interest in 
the matter terminates. Hence we call him a " practical 
man," and that title pleases him better than any other. Re- 
calling a distinction previously made, 1 we may say that, as 
a rule, his mental system has been built up unreflectively. I 
do not mean to say that he does not reflect much. He re- 
flects a great deal upon the practical problems of his busi- 
ness ; but the concepts which thus grow up in his mind are 
usually not logically analysed and worked over so as to 
secure theoretical consistency. The meanings which he or- 
dinarily attaches to the words with which he is most familiar 
are the use or functional meanings, quite sufficient to guide 
his practical activity, but lacking the clear distinction, fine 
discrimination and broad comprehensiveness of theoretical 
thought. 

In the fourth place, he is given to a quantitative evaluation 
of things. He is in the habit of dealing with things that can 
be weighed, measured, counted, calculated; and tends 
through force of habit to estimate everything in such terms. 
His type does not get hold of a thing securely and satisfac- 
torily until it has in some way been quantitatively expressed. 
A singularly interesting expression of this tendency as seen 
in religion has been observed in the Layman's Missionary 

1 See Chap. III. 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 327 

Movement. As soon as the business men took up the mis- 
sionary propaganda seriously they began to calculate — how 
many people are there in the world who have not heard the 
Gospel? How many people can a single missionary be ex- 
pected to reach in his life-time? How many missionaries, 
on this basis, is it necessary to send out in order to carry out 
the Great Commission in this generation ? How much will it 
take to support one missionary? Manifestly that would 
be a business-like carrying out of the Commission; but 
manifestly also it would be a rather mechanical performance. 
There are non-measurable and non-calculable elements of 
the problem which it does not take into consideration, and 
they are the most vital and spiritual elements in it. In any 
other sphere this type of mind is likely to proceed in the 
same way. Often the tendency is to substitute a quanti- 
tative for a qualitative standard. What is a man worth? 
That means, how many dollars is he worth? The price of 
a picture often determines its grade as a work of art. It 
is not such a grossly materialistic attitude of mind as it 
seems to be ; but indicates rather the necessity for this type 
of mind of having some calculable measure of excellence, 
and calculation is a process of measuring things quanti- 
tatively. We must bear in mind the principle that men 
have the keenest sense of the reality of those things with 
which they are constantly dealing. It is much the same in 
estimating results. Concerning any plan, program or 
movement a man of this mental type wishes to know what 
will be the " practical result," and by practical result is 
meant a result that can be seen, calculated, measured. By 
this " rough and ready " standard all ideas, theories, doc- 
trines are judged. The development of this type of mind is 
the inevitable resultant of the fact that in this industrial 
and commercial age the activities of the great majority of 
men, and especially the dominant class of men, are chiefly 
occupied with handling measurable quantities. It is an in- 
teresting fact that with the development of modern industrial 
capitalism the demand for exactness of measurement and 



328 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

calculation has steadily grown and exact book-keeping has 
become a highly developed art, a business habit and an in- 
dispensable condition of success, 1 and it is one of the in- 
fluences which accentuate the mode of thought we are 
describing. 

(2) This mental type is marked by certain ethical pecu- 
liarities. 

(a) It deals with ethical very much as it does with intel- 
lectual questions. Such a man gives little attention to the 
theoretical aspects of ethical questions; his test is, What is 
the " practical" result? He does not trouble himself very 
much as to abstract principles of right and wrong. To. arouse 
his enthusiasm in a moral cause you should show him two 
things : First, that the evil you are attacking is a practical 
injury to men, i.e., produces injurious effects which can be 
seen and measured. Those moral or immoral acts which are 
striking, vivid, dramatic, measurable, impress him most. 
If you can make him see that the injury is economic also, 
you are the more likely to win him ; not because he makes 
the interests of business the standard of right and wrong, 
but because business prosperity is a value of the obvious, 
measurable, " practical " kind which appeals to him 
most strongly. He can perceive and feel the evil of any- 
thing much more keenly when he sees its injurious economic 
effects. Again we emphasize the principle — the form of 
reality which is most real to a man is that with which he 
deals most. Second, you must make him see that your plan 
of opposition promises " practical " results under conditions 
as they are. He has little patience with what seem to him 
to be the visionary programs of theoretical men. In his 
daily contact with the world he has to adjust himself to 
existing conditions and be satisfied to accept the half loaf 
when he cannot get the whole one ; and that seems to him 
to be the sensible thing in all struggles for moral improve- 
ment. Yet the game does not seem to him to be worth the 
candle if the struggle does not give a definite promise of an 

1 Sombart's " Der Bourgeois," p. 18. 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 329 

improvement which is obvious and measurable, and within 
a measurable time. 

(b) The typical business man emphasizes the virtues that 
lie at the basis of successful business. First in the list 
would doubtless be honesty, which is the form of the general 
virtue of truthfulness or integrity that has acquired a rather 
definite business significance. In the early days when busi- 
ness first appeared as a distinct occupation it was associated 
with deceit, misrepresentation, dishonesty. But as the man- 
ufacture and exchange of goods have gradually come to be 
vast and highly differentiated activities in which innumer- 
able multitudes of people are engaged and knit together in 
ten thousand interdependent relations, it has become increas- 
ingly necessary to stress the virtue of honesty. Business 
relations under modern conditions are impossible unless the 
business representations of men can be generally relied upon, 
especially when they enter into definite engagements. The 
sacredness of contracts is the corner-stone of the modern 
economic structure. To change the figure, we may call it the 
key-stone of the arch of business. Without it the whole edi- 
fice would collapse. It has come to be recognized as the 
chief function of the law to guard contracts and the right of 
free contract. Honesty, therefore, in the sense of strict re- 
liability in one's business promises, is a virtue which has the 
very emphatic sanction of the modern economic mind. 
Promptness in keeping engagements is another. In the early 
period of the modern capitalistic era industry was much em- 
phasized, and is still stressed among those who are engaged 
in individual businesses, and as a virtue of employes is yet 
everywhere felt to be imperative ; but it is not felt as binding 
upon themselves by the class of idle capitalists, whose main 
relation to economic activity is to clip coupons and endorse 
dividend checks. And the development of this class is, it is 
to be feared, modifying for the worse our ideal in this re- 
spect. In the early days of the present economic era fru- 
gality was also a most highly praised virtue; but with the 
vast increase in wealth in recent decades and the consequent 



330 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

general trend toward luxurious living and self-indulgence, 
it is losing imperativeness, if not falling into disrepute among 
the well-to-do classes, and through their example lies lightly 
upon the consciences of the poor. Diligence and loyalty on 
the part of employes are heavily emphasized as moral obli- 
gations throughout the business world; but it is worthy of 
note that the reciprocal obligations on the part of employers 
have been much more tardy in acquiring social imperative- 
ness, and even yet have not done so in anything like the 
same measure. It is only another indication of the fact that 
business men are the dominant class in our society, and, 
therefore, set our standards. Naturally they perceive more 
readily and feel more keenly the obligations of employes 
than they do their own, and so place the stress. Sobriety, 
or temperance, the abstention from intoxicating drinks, is a 
requirement felt throughout the business world to be 
almost as imperative as honesty, for the obvious rea- 
son that the opposite vice inevitably leads to economic dis- 
aster in one way or another. Of course, other influences 
also have contributed to the exaltation of this virtue. 

(c) The business man accepts, more or less subcon- 
sciously, a double standard of ethics. Sombart x has called 
attention to a phase of recent ethical development, which 
though not obvious at first, is full of interest. With the 
growth of the elaborate modern economic organization, cer- 
tain virtues — such as frugality and solidity, or reliability — 
are " objectivised," i.e., they come to be attached to the char- 
acter and conduct of the business enterprise itself rather 
than to the personal character and conduct of the business 
man. This is due to the fact that the business has become 
corporate and impersonal rather than individual and per- 
sonal. For instance, the great business corporation is man- 
aged according to the strictest economy — no waste is per- 
mitted ; but in their personal lives the capitalistic owners of 
the business may use the money thus frugally acquired in the 
most lavish and wasteful expenditures. And the corpora- 
1 " Der Bourgeois," p. 336, ff. 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 33 1 

tion may be thoroughly solid and reliable, honest to the core, 
when so much could not be said of the personal character 
and conduct of the several share-holders. Obviously this 
can hardly be the case before the business has been thor- 
oughly differentiated from the personality of the business 
man. The moral character of the owner of an individual 
business is necessarily reflected in large measure in the moral 
character of the business. 

But it is also true — and this is of far greater signifi- 
cance — that the business may be conducted according to 
ethical principles far lower than those which control the 
private and personal life of the business man. Hence we 
may frequently observe the anomaly of a corporation com- 
posed of upright and benevolent individuals coolly adopting 
and ruthlessly prosecuting a business policy which overrides 
all righteousness as well as benevolence. And the business 
man does not seem to realize that he is living according to 
wholly inconsistent standards of conduct. The notion seems 
to have grown up that business has a code of its own, dif- 
ferent from the ethics of personal relations ; and the notion 
has developed in clearness with the growth of corporate as 
distinguished from individual enterprise. Out of these con- 
ditions arise some of the most serious ethical and social 
problems of our time. " Business is business " — this verb- 
ally self-evident but morally questionable proposition is only 
a euphemistic form in which business asserts its independ- 
ence of the accepted standards of personal ethics. This is 
not the place to attempt the solution of the problem — but 
it is far-reaching in its moral import, and most emphatically 
challenges the attention of the minister. 

In his personal disposition and action the business man is 
usually kindly and generous. In former days, after the 
business class had attained to a position of thorough respect- 
ability but before the rise of the capitalistic economy, the 
standards that regulated personal conduct were recognized 
as obligatory in business also, though it is doubtful if 
kindness and consideration for others were so much em- 



332 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

phasized as they now are in personal relations. As the 
business man's life has become sharply differentiated into 
corporate and personal conduct, the ethical standard of the 
former has in some important respects fallen while that of 
the latter has on the whole probably risen. As man to man, 
he is, as a rule, lenient or even indulgent in his judgment 
of others, courteous, kind, self-sacrificing, ready to help, 
with an ear always open to the cry of need. Never, per- 
haps, have these virtues been so much in the ascendant in 
personal relations as they are today when the business man 
is dominant. Of course, it will be borne in mind that the 
effort is to characterize a class, a type to which there are 
many individual exceptions. But certainly as general prop- 
ositions the foregoing statements can hardly be called in 
question. 

(3) Most important of all, for our purpose, are the 
business man's religious peculiarities. These, however, may 
be considered as the outgrowth of his intellectual and moral 
qualities. 

(a) He is non-mystical. Being accustomed to deal with 
things which are substantial and can be measured, weighed, 
counted, there is little mysticism in his mental make-up. Its 
vagueness baffles and offends him. To the type of mind 
formed in economic-experience, mystical-experience appears 
unreal, a dealing with shadows — nay, not shadows, for 
shadows are cast by substantial realities — but rather ghostly 
figments, to which nothing actual corresponds. The typical 
economic man would spell the word a little differently, but to 
his mind more appropriately — misticism. And yet mysti- 
cism is very deeply rooted in the mental life of man, and it is 
very hard to eradicate it altogether; and sometimes it co- 
exists with a decidedly economic turn of mind. But strictly 
speaking it is not consistent with this mental type; and I 
venture to affirm that the mystical type of Christian experi- 
ence has declined in proportion as the economic type of mind 
has become general and dominant. 

(b) He is non-theological. To him theology seems the- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 333 

oretical and impractical ; and, since he does not take much 
to theory and does take decidedly to the practical, theologi- 
cal doctrines and creedal formularies do not appeal to him 
strongly. Hence questions as to orthodoxy and heresy do 
not, as a rule, interest him very much. He fancies that he 
does not see any essential difference between the practical 
conduct of those who make much of their orthodoxy and 
that of those who are accounted heretical — and the practical 
conduct of contending theological groups often seems to him 
to fall below the impersonal standards recognized in com- 
petitive business. He is broadly tolerant in matters of re- 
ligious opinion; and his tolerance grows partly out of his 
indifference as to opinions which cannot be submitted to the 
rough and ready tests which he is in the habit of applying. 
Moreover, he is strenuously occupied with quite different 
matters, and is a firm believer in the division of labour, and 
therefore leaves matters of theology to be settled by the min- 
isters of his religious group as a part of their function — 
willing enough to leave such troublesome, and as he thinks, 
relatively unimportant affairs to those who have a taste for 
them. Of course, many business men prefer that their 
pastors be orthodox — whatever that may mean — because 
heresy has a bad sound and is usually disturbing; and men 
of naturally conservative disposition oppose heresy simply 
on the ground that it disturbs the established order. But 
this attitude is far from being universal. Others like the 
taste of heresy in the pulpit, because it breaks the monotony ; 
and they champion the heretical minister, not so much be- 
cause they regard his particular opinions as matters of first- 
rate importance, as because they think his non-conformity a 
sign of independence of spirit — and they believe in that, 
particularly in theology. But their interest is most likely not 
in the orthodoxy or the heresy, per se. 

His interest is always in the practical aspect of religion. 
But let us define this notion a little more carefully. In the 
first place, he looks at the ethical quality which religion im- 
parts to conduct. Does the religion make men more sober, 



334 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

honest, reliable, kind, just, generous? Does it improve 
them as members of society? If so, the religion is justi- 
fied; if not, its worthlessness is demonstrated. He takes 
quite seriously the words of Jesus — " by their fruits ye shall 
know them." His ethical standards, as we have seen, are 
profoundly influenced — and not always for the better — 
by his economic relations and experience; but the ethical 
quality of life is for him the supreme test of any religion 
or creed. In the second place, he likes to see measurable, 
countable results of Christian effort. He is impressed by 
crowds at church, numerous additions, a full treasury, 
imposing church buildings, institutions established, etc. 
These are results which he can most readily estimate by the 
criteria he is accustomed to applying in business. It is 
an inevitable defect of this mental type that it is likely not to 
perceive and appreciate some of the higher and finer spirit- 
ual qualities of character and achievement. It does not 
measure by the standard to which Browning appeals in 
Rabbi Ben Ezra: 

Not on the vulgar mass 

Called " work " must sentence pass, 

Things done, that took the eye and had the price; 

But all the world's coarse thumb 

And finger failed to plumb, 

So passed in making up the man's account; 

All instincts immature, 

All purposes unsure; 

That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount; 

Thoughts hardly to be packed 

Into a narrow act, 

Fancies that broke through language and escaped: 

All I could never be, 

All men ignored in me, 

That I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. 

(c) After the foregoing it hardly need be added that 
he is not strongly sectarian. Sectarianism results from a 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 335 

peculiar conjunction of influences — free thinking, on the 
one hand, and emphasis upon the importance of correct theo- 
logical opinions, on the other. People who are without in- 
tellectual freedom will, of course, not divide in their opin- 
ions ; but unless theological opinions are considered of very- 
great importance, there will be little disposition to contend 
about them and split the Christian body into fractions on 
account of them. Now, the trend in this industrial and 
commercial age is not toward uniformity of opinion in 
theology — far from it ; but men, while holding their own 
opinions, are not disposed to trouble themselves much about 
the opinions of others in religion ; and among business men 
this is especially true. Being of the " practical " type, such 
men think that the benevolent and ameliorating enterprises 
of Christianity are the matters of supreme importance. 
They are, therefore, disposed to fraternize and co-operate 
with all those who are interested in promoting these enter- 
prises, without regard to differences of theological opin- 
ion. Under the dominance of this type of mind we are wit- 
nessing a most interesting and important double develop- 
ment in Christianity — theological disintegration, on the 
one hand; and on the other, integration around practical 
enterprises of the great religious groups, originally organ- 
ized on the basis of theological differences. Within every 
one of these great groups, once theologically compact and 
solid, all sorts of theological differences now prevail, and 
yet each is kept intact by loyalty to certain institutions and 
denominational enterprises ; while between these groups the 
once sharp theological opposition has nearly disappeared, 
and the tendency to co-operate in the realization of common 
ideals. is growing very strong. Chatting once with a busi- 
ness man about these matters, I asked him how much in- 
terest the business men of his acquaintance felt in the ques- 
tions which divided the denominations. His reply, though 
slangy, is worth repeating : " not enough," he said, " to 
grease the pan with," but he declared that their interest in 



33& PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the practical, ethical, social aims of Christianity was great 
and growing. 

These attitudes of mind have much to do in determining 
the responses which the preacher receives from the pews. 
If the business men do not fill our pews, they at least con- 
stitute the most influential group in our local churches, in 
most cases ; and in the general denominational bodies, in all 
cases. And it is obvious that much preaching is not in 
terms that appeal to them. Many of the terms used in the 
ordinary pulpit, the average business man does not know 
the meaning of. Often the interests which seem to the 
minister most important seem to him unreal or trivial. 
Sometimes the theological distinctions to which the preacher 
devotes much time and thought he characterizes as " chew- 
ing straw." Especially does he take little interest in con- 
troversy about such matters. As a consequence sectarian 
preaching, which from the days of the Reformation to a 
time within the memory of men still living was so much in 
vogue, is hardly tolerated in any community in which this 
type of mind has become dominant; while the preaching 
which emphasizes the essential unity of Christians and the 
widest tolerance of differences of opinion is applauded. The 
get-together movement in Christianity becomes increasingly 
popular. The proposition to dissolve and merge into one 
the denominational organizations receives little encourage- 
ment. Too many substantial interests would be imperiled 
by such a program, and it is beset with an endless number 
of practical difficulties ; but the cry for co-ordination and co- 
operation grows louder all the time. This tendency- is 
strengthened by the fact that the business man has become 
accustomed in the ecenomic world to mammoth enterprises 
in which many businesses are co-ordinated. He tends to 
think in these terms. These huge co-ordinated enterprises 
appeal both to his sense of economy and to his imagination ; 
and when he turns his attention to the practical problems of 
Christianity he sees wonderful visions of possible achieve- 



OCCUPATIONAL TYPES 337 

ment through the co-ordination and co-operation of Chris- 
tian forces. 

What the ultimate issue is to be it would be idle to attempt 
to forecast; but in adjusting ourselves to these conditions it 
is important to realize that, while other influences are at 
work in the same direction, these tendencies are in no small 
measure due to the prevalence of the business type of mind. 
It would be a mistake to draw the hasty conclusion that this 
type of mind should dictate the character of our preaching, 
and that in all cases in which the ministerial and the 
economic types of mind diverge, the preachers are all wrong 
and the business men all right. The fact is that we have 
here two rather highly specialized types, and they should 
act as correctives to one another. The supremely important 
thing is that ministers shall not ignore the divergence and 
that they shall in the presentation of their message under- 
stand, and in some way or other adapt themselves to, the 
modes of thought of the business man; otherwise they will 
find their efforts to be in large measure a vain beating of the 
air. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE MODERN MIND 

Is there a modern mind? The question must be answered 
in the affirmative; though it is not easy to define precisely 
the meaning of the phrase. Of course, there is no modern 
as contrasted with an ancient or primitive mind, if by the 
phrase one means the appearance of any new mental powers 
or functions. But there is no doubt that the typical modern 
man has points of view and modes of thought markedly dif- 
ferent from those of men living under more primitive con- 
ditions. Normally he reacts in a different way to almost 
every situation which calls forth in him any conscious re- 
sponse. To describe and explain as accurately and ade- 
quately as space will permit these different mental attitudes 
and tendencies is the purpose of this chapter. But at the 
outset we must call attention to the fact that we have among 
us persons who represent almost every degree of approx- 
imation to the modern attitude of mind. Many occupy yet 
almost the original, primitive point of view ; and few minds, 
perhaps, have been wholly weaned away from the primitive 
attitude, because the conditions which have brought about 
so important a readjustment of the mental focus have arisen 
in comparatively recent times. Those conditions are the 
profound changes which have taken place in every aspect of 
the environment in which men live. 

Broadly speaking there are two general factors of the 
environment in which men live — the natural and the human. 
By the natural is meant the conditions and forces of nature 
unmodified and uncontrolled by man. The human phase of 
the environment has three elements : first, the human beings 
composing the group with which one stands related ; second, 
human institutions — those relatively fixed systems of re- 

338 



THE MODERN MIND 339 

lations in which men are organized; third, natural objects 
and forces as they are shaped and controlled by man for his 
own convenience and comfort, i.e., all the artificial arrange- 
ments with which we have surrounded ourselves. 

If we consider the changes which have taken place in the 
conditions of human life in the last few centuries we must 
be struck with the fact that there has been a complete re- 
versal of the relative importance of the natural and the 
human factors of man's environment. 

I. Let us consider the primitive situation, bearing in mind 
that we are using the word primitive not strictly in the 
absolute sense, as referring exclusively to the beginnings of 
human life in the world ; but with reference to rude and un- 
developed civilization in general, such as that which pre- 
vailed in Europe during the Middle Ages and prevails now 
in lands where life has not been transformed by Western 
culture. 

i. Under primitive conditions the natural environment is 
by far the more important, and gives direction to the 
thoughts of men and determines their mental attitudes. 
Men are surrounded by nature unmodified or, at most, but 
slightly modified by human effort. Its vastness and wild- 
ness impress them. Its mighty forces are uncontrollable 
by human power; and within its mysterious realms lurk 
dangers which they can not surely anticipate and against 
which they can not guard themselves. At times smiling and 
beneficent; at times frowning and maleficent, it blesses or 
blasts men, seemingly by caprice ; and they strive with little 
success to find the clue to its apparent changes of mood. 
They have no science of natural forms, forces and processes. 
They are without the very concept of natural law. Nature 
does not seem to them one and consistent, but to be ani- 
mated by many different and contradictory purposes. Only 
within narrow limits have they perceived the threads of uni- 
formity which bind together natural phenomena. At best, 
nature seems a vast, discordant synthesis of minor har- 
monies. 



340 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

And yet upon nature they are immediately, continuously, 
and absolutely dependent for the simplest means of life. Of 
course, there is a sense in which this may be said of men 
at every stage of their development ; but primitive men have 
learned so little of the art of controlling natural forces, have 
accumulated so small a stock of economic goods and live in 
such isolation from other human groups that a local drought 
or storm or pestilence leaves them without any reserve 
power or other human resource. They feel themselves en- 
compassed by and helplessly dependent upon vast, dimly ap- 
prehended forces, of whose operations, which mean imme- 
diate weal or woe to them, they have practically no compre- 
hension and control. 

2. The dominance of the interests which grow out of the 
pressure of the natural environment upon the human spirit 
is so complete, it appears, because the human environment 
is at this stage relatively so insignificant. In the first place, 
the number of human beings with whom an individual in 
such a social state has any conscious relationship is small. 
The groups in which men live are not large, and intercom- 
munication between them is difficult and rare. Even when 
many of them are comprehended in one great political em- 
pire, as in the European States of the Middle Ages or in 
China of the present day, communication between them is 
slow and uncertain, and for the individuals of any one 
group the distant groups are practically non-existent. The 
round of one's life is spent in a small circle of human con- 
tacts. In the second place, the system of social life is sim- 
ple. There are not a great many organized relationships in 
which men stand to one another. The family is the main 
institution ; besides it are the priesthood and the civil magis- 
tracy, both of which are comparatively simple in constitu- 
tution, and if one looks back far enough, both of them are 
seen to merge in the head of the kinship group. In the third 
place, very little has been done in the creation of artificial 
conditions of living. Buildings are small and simple in 
structure. Roads are little more than trails through vast 



THE MODERN MIND 341 

wildernesses or over barren wastes. Conveyances are 
equally rude. Tools are simple and machinery is practically 
non-existent. Cities are few and far between, and small; 
their streets are unpaved, unlighted, uncleaned; and public 
modes of transportation, even of the rudest sort, are un- 
heard of. On the other hand, all the cosmic forces run wild 
in their might ; only the feeblest beginnings have been made 
in the conquest of them for the service of man. It is 
apparent, therefore, that adjustment to the human environ- 
ment is nothing like so insistent and dominating a problem 
as the establishment and maintenance of satisfactory rela- 
tions with the natural environment. 

3. What mental effects does living under such conditions 
produce ? 

It is inevitable that men should interpret these cosmic 
forces in terms of their own consciousness. Under the cir- 
cumstances it is practically certain that their representation 
of them will take the form of a multitude of spirits, good 
and bad, hidden behind the natural forms and expressing 
their purposes, more or less capricious, through natural 
phenomena. If by any means the people have come to 
have the idea of the unity of God, they are likely to bring 
this lofty conception into some sort of consistency with the 
lower notion of a world swarming with good and bad spirits. 
Being without science and impressed with the mystery of 
natural forces and processes, the notion of magic, sym- 
pathetic and contagious, obsesses their minds ; and through 
its arts they fancy they are able to defend themselves to 
some extent against evil beings whose ill will menaces them, 
and to control in some measure the multitude of spirits 
surrounding them. So all-encompassing is this natural en- 
vironment, so immediately and absolutely are men de- 
pendent upon it, so closely does it press upon them with 
benefits and injuries, that adjustment to it monopolizes 
human attention. It becomes the most insistent problem of 
human life. Inevitably the habit grows upon them of inter- 
preting the varying fortunes of their lives in terms of their 



342 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

relations with those non-human beings, of whose wills 
natural events are supposed to be the expression. All the 
occurrences of life except the acts of their own wills are 
accounted for by the activity of these beings; and often 
even the acts of the human will are so explained. Mag- 
ical arts grow apace. Taboos and ceremonial perfor- 
mances multiply around all the more notable experiences 
of men. In the course of advancing intelligence these 
fungus growths are removed ; but the sense of an all-encom- 
passing superhuman presence remains so long as people live 
in such an environment. Of the two factors of the religious 
relation — the human and the superhuman — the first is 
felt to be comparatively insignificant. The superhuman 
spirit, good or bad, is believed often to take possession of 
the human spirit, speak through it and use it according to 
pleasure. Superhuman influences overflow — submerge, so 
to speak — the whole realm of human existence. The 
priesthood attains to great power and often dominates the 
civil order. The religious official, regarded as the repre- 
sentative of the superhuman world, is the most important 
personage in the community and his utterances on any mat- 
ter carry the utmost weight. 

When in the course of events, the reason begins — as it 
inevitably must, sooner or later — to formulate theories of 
the world, theological problems are uppermost and mainly 
engage the rational activities. Theological opinions are felt 
to be matters of transcendent importance. There is no tol- 
eration of divergence from the theological conceptions gen- 
erally held by the group. As these divergences appear, de- 
spite the intolerance, the groupings of men are determined 
by their various opinions on religious subjects. These dif- 
ferences form the line of profound social cleavage; and 
often become the source of the most ardent and uncom- 
promising animosities which array men against one another. 

II. We may now turn to consider the modern situation. 
It is evident that with the increase of the population and the 
accumulation of human experience, the human factors of the 



THE MODERN MIND 343 

environment become relatively more and more important. 
In a survey of the history of human development it becomes 
apparent that progress has taken place, on the whole, step 
by step as the human group has become larger and human 
control over natural forms and forces has extended. The 
process of civilization has been a movement from a situation 
in which the human factor was at a minimum toward a sit- 
uation in which it is at a maximum. As a general statement 
this unquestionably holds good, notwithstanding some facts 
which seem to contradict it. Sometimes an alarmed cry 
arises for a reversal of the process and a return to more 
primitive conditions ; but real improvement is to be effected 
not by a return to conditions in which the human environ- 
ment is relatively less dominant, but by pressing forward to 
conditions in which the human control of the natural en- 
vironment shall be more nearly complete and shall be 
directed by a more conscious social purpose. 

In our study we may secure better results by having in 
mind the modern city, for there this characteristic feature 
of modern life is most pronounced and its significance most 
apparent. The gathering of people into these municipal ag- 
gregations has always been a marked feature of social de- 
velopment; but in recent times, especially under the influ- 
ence of modern industrialism, the drawing of people in mul- 
titudes from rural districts into these great centres has been 
a phenomenon of extraordinary importance. On account 
of the natural increase of the population and the city-ward 
tendency of the population under industrialism, we have 
such municipal aggregations as were never seen before, and 
they are growing at a rate which is astonishing. On account 
of the progress of invention, these masses of people live 
under conditions far more highly artificialized than men 
have ever dreamed of before. The characteristic feature of 
city life has always been the prominence of the human en- 
vironment. The conditions of life are largely human and 
humanly controlled. But this is far more true of the mod- 
ern city than of the cities of former ages. It is true also of 



344 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

the country in large measure, especially of the districts con- 
tiguous to the cities, but less and less so as one moves far- 
ther away from the great urban centres. The fact is that 
rural districts are being progressively suburbanized. Ex- 
cellent roads are being built; vehicles of every description 
improved; trolley-lines and telephone wires extended into 
remote sections ; and up-to-date methods of heating and light- 
ing installed in residences. Along with this trend the 
primeval wilderness is giving way to intensively cultivated 
fields and scientifically cultivated forests. The whole as- 
pect of the country has been changed by human effort, and 
the original natural environment has been highly artificial- 
ized even in remote rural districts. 

If we reflect upon the rapid growth of cities, the extend- 
ing influence of the cities upon the country, the general 
increase in the density of the population, and the rapid rate 
at which all the conditions of life, even in the country, are 
being artificialized — i.e., humanly organized and controlled, 
we may safely conclude that the modern city-bred man most 
nearly represents the trend of human development in this 
age. Into the study of this type and the conditions under 
which it is developed let us go somewhat in detail. 

I. First, as to the environmental conditions. 

In the city a man has comparatively little contact with 
nature in any of its original forms. He does not walk on 
Mother Earth. His vision does not range over the rolling 
hills, nor penetrate the shadowy recesses of the forest. His 
ears are assaulted by a deafening complex of all the dis- 
cordant noises with which his own stormy energy has been 
able to break the primeval silence. He sees little of the sky, 
which is hidden behind his heaven climbing walls and even 
when glimpsed is darkened by the smoke, which looks like 
an angry but ineffectual protest of nature against his im- 
pertinent disturbance of her ancient quietude. And while 
he thus obscures the day, he illuminates the night with the 
obtrusive glare of the electric lamps, which make the modest 
moon, Nature's invention, look pale and abashed. Of 



THE MODERN MIND 345 

course, he does not transcend nature. That is impossible. 
But he sees around him not nature in its pristine state, in 
which its massive forms and resistless forces dominate and 
overawe him, but as it is worked upon, shaped, controlled, 
and made to serve his ends. The enumeration of all the 
mechanical devices and appliances by which we have so 
largely overcome the limitations of time and space and com- 
pelled the earth and sea and air to yield up their treasures to 
us and to become the media through which our desires are 
realized, would form only a series of tedious platitudes. 
Let us consider some of the less hackneyed aspects of our 
theme. 

In the city a man's dangers — at least those that are the 
most obvious — are man-made. From morn till night he 
runs the gauntlet of danger; but for the most part it is 
danger that arises from the conditions of the associated life 
of the city. He may be knocked down, run over, broken, or 
maimed, or sawed asunder, or crushed, or suffocated, or 
burned, or blown to atoms ; but the perils that most threat- 
eningly encompass him are the forces and processes that are 
organized and directed by men. 

Likewise with an increasing number of his diseases. 
There is already a long and growing list of occupational 
diseases which have their origin in the conditions under 
which men and women, as things now are, must work in the 
cities. Some of the most loathsome and deadly diseases 
arise from or are fostered by the horrible housing condi- 
tions under which great masses of the population are com- 
pelled to live, because no better accommodations are avail- 
able for the poor, and because this grade of houses is ex- 
ceptionally remunerative. Furthermore, one needs but look 
around to see the great multitude of physical wrecks whose 
nerves, over-strained, unstrung, jangled by the strenuous 
conditions of city life, are enough of themselves to make life 
a perpetual misery, while they furnish also the best breed- 
ing-ground for flocks of other diseases. And many of the 
diseases which do not originate in the man-made conditions 



346 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

are rendered far more dangerous by reason of the human 
crowding. 

In the city one's success or failure seems to depend most 
directly upon one's fellowmen or upon oneself in competi- 
tion with one's fellowmen. The gravamen of the economic 
struggle is competition with men. Of course, the thought- 
ful man sees nature in the background and perceives that 
man in his economic efforts is coping with natural forces 
and processes, and that nature gradually falls under the 
sway of the human will. The focal point, however, in the 
economic consciousness of most men is not the collective 
effort to master the material world, but is their relative par- 
ticipation in the social wealth thus created. And not only 
the general wealth but the distribution whereby men find 
their places in the economic gradation of society seems to 
be very definitely due to a series of human efforts and ar- 
rangements. If a man be poor he is likely to feel that his 
poverty is due largely, at any rate, to conditions and proc- 
esses which are socially determined, and could be socially 
changed. If he be rich, he may, like the celebrated Mr. Baer 
of anthracite coal fame, when his title to control so large 
a part of the world's natural wealth was challenged, set 
up the claim that God has committed so much to the rich, 
because presumably they are the best fitted to administer it 
wisely ; though as a matter of fact such men really attribute 
the greatness of their accumulations not to God but to their 
own energy and wisdom, working in a humanly organized 
economic system which they highly approve. In a word, 
poverty and riches, success and failure, appear to be the 
results of personal qualities working in a man-made eco- 
nomic environment. They are not ordained by a super- 
human power. 

The modern man has become accustomed to vast systems 
of machinery with their mazes of interrelated parts. The 
machine is, perhaps, the most characteristic feature of our 
modern civilization. It is the development of the tool; but 
the tool was a simple instrument which a man used as a sort 



THE MODERN MIND 347 

of supplement to his body. The machine is an apparatus 
which serves more than one important function — the most 
notable of which, from our point of view, is that it taps cos- 
mic energy, which it brings into the service of man to do his 
will under the direction of his intelligence. It is an organ- 
ization of material things for controlling the forces before 
which men once stood in impotent awe. It is a method of 
taming heat, light, steam, electricity, gravitation; and as 
more occult realms of natural energy are opened up it sub- 
dues them also to human purposes. There is no apparent 
limit to this process; but, generally speaking, with this ad- 
vancing conquest of nature the appliances through which 
its forces are trained to human service become more elab- 
orately complex. Between the directing mind and the end 
at which it aims is interposed an ever longer and more intri- 
cate series of mechanical means; until the human intel- 
ligence seems almost dwarfed by the very vastness of the 
material organization it has invented. 

Turning now from the consideration of the artificial en- 
vironment which men have built up around themselves, let 
us think of the multiplicity of the human contacts in the 
city. One is continually rubbing against one's fellowmen. 
The relationships and contacts get to be so numerous that 
many of them become to a large extent habitual. The con- 
sciousness attending them is not vivid or intense. Many of 
them come only within the fringe of consciousness. This is 
a merciful provision, for the economy of our vital energy — 
life in the city would be intolerable, impossible, indeed, if it 
were not so. Nevertheless, the whole field of attention of 
the dweller in the city is usually filled with these human 
contacts and relations. Their multiplicity and importance, 
the inevitable and urgent character of many of them, render 
it necessary to the preservation and promotion of life that 
they occupy prevailingly the foreground of one's conscious- 
ness. It is men, men, men! Turn where we will, we see 
them; or if we do not at the moment see them, we see the 
work of their hands or we hear the sounds of their activities. 



348 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

If for a little rest and relief from this omnipresent and 
sometimes oppressive sense of human presence, one betakes 
himself to a park, he is confronted by others, who, like him- 
self, have fled for rest to the bosom of nature. But there 
nature is not simply nature any more. Every path, every 
bush, the green grass and the trees are mute witnesses of 
the art and care of man. Even the birds and the squirrels 
are " socialized." There is no relief except in flight from 
the city ; and ordinarily one must travel a great distance to 
get away from the obtrusive evidences of the monopolizing 
presence and activity of man. In the city his soul is simply 
immersed in the consciousness of the human environment. 

The consciousness of one's fellowmen is forced upon him 
not only by the multiplicity of personal contacts but also by 
the extent and variety of the institutional relations which 
encompass him. What we may call the social machinery 
has become even more vast and complex than the mechanical 
appliances which men use. We have noted the fact that 
there was not much social organization in primitive life; in 
modern life it has grown until it is bewildering and op- 
pressive. Let any man of average importance in an ad- 
vanced modern community count up the various organized 
relations in which he stands, and he will probably be sur- 
prised. Let him look at the economic system of which he is 
a member. How far reaching and complicated it is ! Then 
let him think of the educational system, and of the political 
system, and of the ecclesiastical. Then the benevolent or- 
ders must be taken into account; and the literary societies, 
the art clubs, the civic organizations, and the convivial — 
the whole endless range of voluntary associations projected 
for the promotion of every interest under the sun. The or- 
ganized and institutional relations of men are growing more 
numerous all the time and all are becoming more elaborate 
and complex (except the family, an exception of capital im- 
portance), and the limits of this process of organizing life 
no man can foresee. We are already so linked up with our 
fellows in this way that we often think of the social organ- 



THE MODERN MIND 349 

ization as a huge and intricate machine in which the main 
business of life is for each one to play his little perfunctory- 
part; and it greatly helps to preoccupy the consciousness 
of each person with the human environment, which so en- 
compasses him that he sees or hears or thinks little else. 

Another vitally important aspect of the modern situation 
is the development of science. It is closely connected with 
the growing importance of the human factors of the en- 
vironment, of which it presupposes a considerable develop- 
ment; and is the chief method whereby men have been able 
to master and fashion their material environment. Science 
is the systematic study of facts for the purpose of ascer- 
taining their law. To be more specific : The subject mat- 
ter of science is experience ; its method is experiment, so far 
as that is possible ; its aim is to organize experience accord- 
ing to its uniformities, so as to enable men to secure a more 
extensive control of their environment and better adapt 
themselves to those aspects of it which they cannot control. 
Science calls upon her devotees to divest themselves of all 
prejudice, to sit humbly at the feet of Nature and learn of 
her, and advance their welfare by ascertaining her laws. 
" Control through knowledge " is her dictum. 

It is superfluous to dwell upon the success of the scientific 
method. Certainly it has immensely broadened the realm 
of man's control of natural forces, and accelerated his task 
of organizing about him an environment of his own mak- 
ing. Opposed uncompromisingly at first, it has vindicated 
itself by helpful results that are indisputable and has finally 
won the undivided loyalty of the modern world. 

2. Now, what effect does living under these modern con- 
ditions have upon the thinking and feeling of men? What 
dispositions and mental attitudes does it tend to induce? 

(i) The modern man cannot long tolerate loneliness. If 
he becomes weary of the presence of men and the strain 
which that imposes, as he sometimes does, and finds his 
way into the solitudes to stand face to face with primeval 
nature, he may for a few days enjoy the silent gloom of the 



350 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

forest or the solemn grandeur of glens and crags or the 
wild freedom of the waste of waters; but the loneliness 
which soon falls like lead upon his aching heart discloses 
the fact that the predominantly human environment to 
which he is accustomed has become for him the very breath 
of life. The intolerable pain of being alone is an interest- 
ing phase of the psychology of the modern city man. City 
life may afford the conditions for the greatest privacy of 
certain aspects of the individual and family life ; and a man 
may be more lonely in a great city than anywhere else, if he 
be a stranger, but it is, nevertheless, true that the normal 
city-bred man has become so accustomed to the presence of 
his fellowmen, his habitual processes of feeling and think- 
ing have been so prevailingly determined by the human en- 
vironment, that loneliness, and especially loneliness in the 
midst of the wild forms, the vast spaces and the deep 
silence of primeval nature, is peculiarly oppressive and pro- 
foundly, though vaguely, disturbing. 

(2) Out of this very estrangement of man from nature 
in its primitive, untamed forms arises the aesthetic delight 
in nature which is so marked a characteristic of the modern 
mind. As a rule it is not the men who live in daily contact 
with nature in whom its colours and forms awaken the re- 
sponses which are called aesthetic. Usually it is the man 
who lives or has been bred in an artificial environment. 
Under the conditions of life in the early world when men 
lived in much closer familiarity with hills and streams and 
forests, with clouds and storms and the glorious panorama 
of the heavens, there was not the same thrill of joy in look- 
ing upon them as modern men feel. It is most interesting 
to observe the different feeling for and treatment of nature 
in the early and later literatures of the world. Of course, 
in making such broad generalizations it must be remembered 
that they are relative and approximate only. But in a gen- 
eral way it can be said that nature, simply as nature, is rarely 
if ever the inspiration of the writer in the early literature. 
His utterances are likely to be rich, almost riotously rich, 



THE MODERN MIND 351 

in natural tropes. Metaphors and similes drawn from 
natural objects seem to be the customary dress for his pas- 
sionate thought, but the inspiration of his passion is not 
nature itself, but the purposes and actions of the gods whom 
he fancies he sees in nature. The thought of the modern 
writer is not likely to be so gorgeously arrayed in natural 
tropes, but far more frequently do you find him standing 
in rapt contemplation before natural objects, deriving his 
inspiration from them, delighting in them on their own 
account, and giving a loving, sometimes entrancing, descrip- 
tion of them in confidence that he could not give a keener 
delight to a large circle of readers. His interest in nature 
is aesthetic, not religious. It has been pointed out 1 that 
landscape painting, so important a feature of modern, and so 
insignificant a feature of early art, has developed in connec- 
tion with the highly artificial conditions of modern city life, 
under which man has been divorced from his primitive in- 
timacy with nature. 

(3) The same writer calls attention to the fact that what 
might be called the rhythmical adjustment to nature is much 
less perfect in modern than it was in primitive conditions. 
Primevally man's food supply was usually abundant and as- 
sured at certain seasons of the year and limited and pre- 
carious at others, and his life expanded and contracted, so 
to speak, with the seasons. In other respects, also, the 
variations of his life ran parallel with the seasonal changes 
much more closely than is the case in civilized lands today ; 
and the explanation is evident — the recent extension of his 
control over nature, artificializing the conditions under which 
he lives. Even the adaptation of his life to the diurnal 
rhythm of nature, the alternations of the waking and the 
sleeping periods, is to a large extent broken up under the 
conditions of city life, and through the operation of the 
same causes. In a word, his life must adapt itself more and 
more to the varying tides of social life and less to the regu- 
lar alternations of nature. 

1 Simmel, " Philosophic des Geldes," pp. 543-4- 



35^ PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

(4) The modern spirit is strenuous. The complex and 
crowded human environment is extremely stimulating. The 
primeval natural environment at times powerfully stimu- 
lated the minds of men ; but on the whole it was soporific as 
compared with the thronging and tumultuous life in the midst 
of which the modern man moves. Indeed, many people are 
over-stimulated today. Only those of fairly sound nervous 
constitutions can stand the strain. Everybody works under 
high pressure ; when men play they feel that it is dull unless 
the pressure is high; and perhaps no class of people live 
under higher pressure than those who do not work at all. 
The development of society inevitably quickens the pace of 
life. Everything must move faster. Men become impatient 
of slow movement in every sphere of life, and especially in 
the pulpit. This speeding-up process continues ; and no one 
can see any prospect that it will cease in the future. For- 
tunately, life tends to adapt itself to the constantly accelerat- 
ing pace in various ways. Men's minds become more alert ; 
and by learning to economize time and personal energy and 
to use more effectively the energy of natural forces, the 
majority of people not only survive but manage to accom- 
plish more and more. 

(5) The passion for achievement is a characteristic of the 
modern age. This would seem to be a natural result of 
living in an environment which is so stimulating and is so 
largely the product of human effort. Under this stimulation 
the sense of individual personality is intensified, and the 
environment teems with suggestions and inducements to give 
expressions to personality in forms of constructive effort. 
Sometimes the destructive impulse dominates, but that is ex- 
ceptional. The conditions of life today stimulate men to 
impress themselves in some way upon their environment, 
either by subduing the yet unsubdued realms of nature or 
by reorganizing some part of the human world. This striv- 
ing for achievement takes the form of both individual and 
collective effort, which are not inconsistent with one another 
but are always co-ordinated in any important enterprise. 



THE MODERN MIND 353 

And this is pre-eminently the age of large enterprises. 
Social groups are so large and the human organization is so 
immense that men are stimulated not only to achieve, but to 
achieve largely. Men have a craving to do things and to see 
things done on a colossal scale, which is the natural psycho- 
logical effect of living in such a vast humanly organized en- 
vironment. This desire is almost an obsession of the mod- 
ern mind. Notwithstanding all the expressions of horror 
at the unspeakable tragedy of the great war, it is probable 
that millions of people feel a half-conscious pride in the 
fact that this generation has conducted war on a scale which 
utterly dwarfs all previous efforts of men in this sanguinary 
business. The achievements of men rapidly build up about 
them an environment which kindles to a more intense flame 
the desire to accomplish things on a still larger scale. It is a 
spirit which grows upon its own success. Where will it 
end? 

A very important result is that attention is focused more 
and more upon this present life, and, to a corresponding de- 
gree, is diverted from the existence beyond this. Com- 
petent observers in all walks of society testify that interest 
and belief in personal immortality are declining; and, in 
part, it seems to be accounted for by the constant occupation 
of the attention with the possibilities and problems of the 
stimulating environment in which men live today. This is 
surely a deeply important aspect of the religious life of our 
time, and seriously challenges the thought of every intel- 
ligent preacher. 

(6) The great development of science has wrought — or 
perhaps we should say is working — a most significant 
change in the mental attitude of men toward the whole uni- 
verse of phenomena, though the change was first effected 
and is yet most obvious with respect to the physical world. 
Of course, there are many men who have been only partially 
affected by this influence. But science has become the main 
factor in determining the mode of thought of the educated 
world; and through the activities of the intellectual classes 



354 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

who are under its sway it is potent in forming the general 
mental attitude of the age. Its influence has become atmos- 
pheric ; and even the most ignorant rustic's mode of thought 
has been profoundly modified by it, though he be innocent 
of its first principles. But the number of those who have 
no acquaintance with the general principles of science is 
rapidly diminishing. The natural sciences form a very im- 
portant part of the curricula of all schools; and scientific 
method prevails in the study of all other subjects. Surely 
and rapidly the mental life of the rising generation is being 
cast in the scientific mould. Let us notice some of the par- 
ticular aspects of the great mental change which has thus 
been brought about. 

First, men are becoming accustomed to regard all things 
as open to scientific inquiry. There is no precinct, however 
sacred, which can successfully resist the entrance of the 
great questioner, investigator, tester — Science. Conse- 
quently every assumption of prejudice, every hope that 
springs from desire, every tenet of faith, every formulation 
of human experience, which has not been examined and es- 
tablished scientifically, is felt to be wanting in suitable cre- 
dentials for the men of this age. All the persuasions and 
convictions of men which are not certified by this great 
Guarantor of positive truth are felt by those whose minds 
have been cast in the scientific mould to be insecurely 
founded. Everything is open to question. It is therefore 
an age that really teems with unsolved problems. Doubt- 
less the confidence in science is overweening, just as was 
the confidence in traditional authority which it has displaced. 
Science can speak with authority only within certain limits. 
But we are now stating the actual facts as to the mental 
attitude characteristic of the age, not justifying that attitude, 
and the statements made are none too strong. If science 
has its limitations, there is a feeling that those limits must 
be determined according to scientific method. In other 
words, there is a general conviction that no other authority 
can legitimately set the bounds beyond which science has 



THE MODERN MIND 355 

no right to speak. Doubtless the final test must be prag- 
matic. Science thrusts its questions into every sphere and 
seeks to apply its methods there, and in the end her right to 
be there can only be determined by the result. Does the ap- 
plication of the scientific method in any given realm yield 
results that promote the fundamental human interests? If 
so, it is justified; otherwise, not. 

In the second place, it has a tendency to depersonalize the 
whole universe of natural phenomena. Natural occurrences 
the law of which has not been discovered men are almost 
certain to refer to a non-human personal agency. Before 
the notion of natural law had been acquired, anything that 
took place and was not obviously accounted for by human 
agency was referred to non-human personal beings of one 
description or another. But when a law of nature has been 
discovered we are no longer disposed to refer the phenomena 
covered by it to the activity of a personal being. Now, 
science cultivates the habit of thinking that all change 
throughout the universe takes place according to law, and 
that the law is ascertainable by the human mind. The 
universality of natural law may be regarded as a fixed as- 
sumption, or presupposition, of the modern mind; and so 
may the confidence that by scientific investigation men are 
destined to approximate more and more closely an adequate 
knowledge of the laws of nature. As the realm of dis- 
covered natural law has broadened, the sphere of activity 
of those non-human personalities has contracted, until many 
men believe that the progress of natural science is destined 
to eliminate every trace of it. Most men think of the uni- 
verse, especially the physical universe, as being operated by 
a vast system of laws. For most minds when the law of 
any phenomenon is found out, it is felt to be explained. 
That phenomenon is adequately accounted for. When any 
phenomenon is puzzling, the modern mind is convinced that 
there is a law that will explain it, and investigators set about 
the search for it. After a while some lucky man finds it. 
" Eureka." That fact is classed among the things explained, 



356 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

and the investigator starts upon the trail of some other puz- 
zling fact. So accustomed are modern men to this way of 
thinking that few realize what a radical and far reaching 
change in the conception of the universe it represents, and 
how profoundly it has modified man's mental attitude toward 
physical nature in particular. We may readily grant that 
this is shallow thinking. But even those who think more 
deeply find it difficult to connect these regular processes of 
nature with the activity of a personal being, or personal 
beings, in an intelligible way. Impersonal forces and laws 
seem to intervene somehow between the events and the acts 
of volition to which they are at most only indirectly re- 
ferred. 

This conception of the universe is greatly reinforced by 
the modern man's familiarity with machinery. Many minds 
which loyally maintain a theistic conception of the universe 
have derived from the machine their idea of the relation of 
the physical world to the divine intelligence. They seem to 
think that God made the universe and ordained the laws of 
nature ; and that nature operates under the control of those 
laws, which really determine all specific changes. The sig- 
nificant aspect of it is that for their thought the actual per- 
sonal activity of God is moved back one or perhaps many 
links in the chain of causation. God is in the background, 
and intervening between His will and the events of the 
natural world is a vast apparatus of forces and laws, im- 
personal and unchangeable in their operation. In the 
thought of such persons, God is no more personally respon- 
sible for any human tragedies that may result from the 
operation of those laws than the engineer is for the mangling 
of an unfortunate victim who is accidentally caught in the 
machinery which he is superintending. Another significant 
aspect of this mode of thought is that while God moves far- 
ther into the background, the human control of these 
natural forces becomes more obvious and extensive. Men 
see that they are actually gaining power to direct the oper- 
ation of those forces before which they once stood in help- 



THE MODERN MIND 357 

less, trembling awe as the expressions of the moods and voli- 
tions of mysterious superhuman beings ; and there is no' 
wonder that they should think of the human intelligence as 
already something more than a novice in the midst of the 
universal machinery of natural forces, rapidly acquiring the 
skill either to bend them to human service or to protect man 
against the dangers of their uncontrolled operation. 

There are others whose philosophy is more spiritual and 
who think of nature as animated by a great soul whose life 
pulsates through it all, causing all change. But the univer- 
sal life of this type of thought is in constant danger of 
losing the distinctive marks of personality. So in one way 
or another the modern trend is to depersonalize the entire 
universe wherein natural law is seen to obtain. 

What is the explanation of this tendency? It is not safe 
to dogmatize as to the reason. But we offer the following 
tentative explanation. It is probably due to an inclination, 
almost irresistible, to regard the acts of personalities as 
variable or incalculable. Human personalities are so largely 
impulsive, so little controlled by rational considerations, that 
they seem incalculable. It is doubtless true that the more 
completely controlled by impulse a person is, the more cal- 
culable his action would really be, if all the obscure and com- 
plex conditions of the action could be seen and understood. 
But these are always hidden for the most part. Even the 
actor himself, especially if he is impulsive, is often just as ig- 
norant of these conditions as his fellow-men, or more so. It 
is also true that action absolutely controlled by reason would 
always appear regular, orderly, calculable, if all the con- 
siderations influencing it were clearly apparent. But such a 
person would be moving on a plane far above the level of 
the intelligence of men as now constituted; his reasons 
would often be hidden from their view; and he would al- 
most certainly appear to them irregular and incalculable. 
Or if his action occurred with a regularity that was obvious, 
it would inevitably often appear arbitrary and unreasonable ; 
or mechanical and non-moral. We have, therefore, come to 



358 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

associate a large measure of variability, irregularity and 
incalculability of procedure with personality; and when we 
discover that a series of phenomena recurs according to a 
fixed and invariable sequence, we attribute it to the agency 
of non-personal forces. 

But it is not alone the perception of the universal prev- 
alence of law which makes this tendency so strong. So far 
as the regularity and uniformity of natural phenomena are 
concerned, it is possible to interpret them as the expressions 
of a rational and orderly mind, though there is a strong ten- 
dency to do otherwise. But upon the modern mind nature 
makes an impression of being non-moral, which for most 
men completely precludes the interpretation of natural proc- 
esses in terms of personal will. While in a general way and 
on the whole, nature appears to favour the development of 
life, in a concrete and specific way it is amazingly indifferent 
to moral distinctions. The plague sweeps away the good 
and the bad alike ; the drouth burns the fields that belong to 
the saint just as it does those that belong to the sinner; 
earthquakes tumble into ruins the homes of the virtuous 
and the vicious, the temples of worship and the haunts of 
wickedness with a striking lack of discrimination. What 
does the lightning ask as to the character of the man or the 
structure destroyed by its bolt? And nature bestows her 
favours in the same indiscriminate fashion. Of course, a 
series of actions of the most rational character may seem 
non-moral or even immoral to one who does not see the 
rational and moral considerations guiding the actor. But 
the general conception of nature in the thought of this age 
is that its processes absolutely ignore moral distinctions. If 
we postulate as the ultimate goal of the processes of nature 
some far-off moral end — in the progress toward which they 
so strangely ignore the moral distinctions — we are walking 
by faith, not by scientific sight. 

For these reasons the modern mind has become very much 
confused as to the relation of God to the universe. Once 
men seemed to find little difficulty in giving a religious inter- 



THE MODERN MIND 359 

pretation of natural phenomena. The minister of religion 
proclaimed with assured conviction the divine purposes in 
storms and pestilences, in smiling fields of plenty, in sun- 
shine and rain, in sickness and health, in eclipses and con- 
junctions of the heavenly bodies, in all the natural occur- 
rences which touched, or seemed to touch, the interests of 
human beings; and the people received these interpretations 
with almost unquestioning assent. But now the preacher is 
usually hesitant or dumb on this theme; and when he con- 
tinues the role of interpreter of the religious significance of 
natural phenomena, his utterances are treated by minds 
formed in the scientific mould as impious presumption or 
idle guessing. 

But the difficulty becomes more serious still when natural 
law comes to be considered as universal, covering the realm 
of mind as well as that of the physical world. If, as its 
sway is perceived to extend in all directions, natural law 
precludes the interpretation of the phenomena it covers in 
terms of the free determination of personal will, what must 
be the inevitable conclusion of the whole matter ? That is a 
philosophical problem of the first magnitude; and it is not 
within the purview of this book to offer a solution of it, 
though I can not refrain from offering one or two sugges- 
tions as to the direction in which the solution must be sought. 
First, the concepts of " natural law," " cause " and " effect " 
must be subjected to a radical criticism, which will certainly 
show that as usually held they are exceedingly crude and 
superficial ideas — objectivizing and hypostatizing pure men- 
tal constructions. A natural law, reduced to simple terms, 
is only the uniformity or invariability of a series of 
phenomena. But that uniformity or invariability of se- 
quences we erect into an objective entity, and regard it, thus 
objectivized, as the explanation of the invariable sequences 
of which it is, in fact, only the human formulation. We 
have thus expelled from the natural universe the multitude 
of phantom spirits with which the primitive man populated 
it as his explanation of natural phenomena and replaced 



360 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

them with impersonal natural laws, which are as truly men- 
tal constructions of ours as the spirits were of primitive 
men. It may well be asked whether, apart from the dis- 
covery of the uniformities of nature, which the primitive 
man did not perceive, we have really made any advance in 
this matter. In the second place, our concepts of " will " 
and " freedom " must also undergo a careful revision. 
Along these lines it will probably be possible to bring about 
a consistent correlation of natural law with personal action. 
But such a philosophical solution of the difficulty, if effected, 
will modify popular modes of thought only after a long 
time; and it is the analysis of those popular modes of 
thought which now engages us. Certainly the scientific and 
growingly popular conception of natural processes and laws 
as wholly mechanical and non-moral, devoid of the impress 
of personal will and purpose, presents a serious problem 
for the preacher ; because it renders it very difficult to give 
a religious interpretation of the universe, which seems 
throughout to be the sphere of natural law. 

(7) The fact that the foreground of the consciousness 
of the modern man is occupied for the most part with human 
relationships and a humanly controlled environment adds 
to the confusion and helps to remove God, so to speak, into 
the background of thought. The suggestions of God's pres- 
ence are not so frequent or obvious, nor the sense of His 
presence so constant. The environment does not seem so 
manifestly to point one toward the superhuman. Religion 
is not eliminated. Those primal instincts which are organ- 
ized into the very foundation of the personality and with 
which the religious consciousness is so closely connected can 
not be suppressed. Again and again occurrences happen in 
which a superhuman being seems to crash through the 
humanly organized environment and to advertise his pres- 
ence in a most impressive and solemn way. But do not 
these occasions become less frequent, as man's control over 
nature extends ? At any rate, the religious interpretation of 
concrete experiences is less common and is felt by the 



THE MODERN MIND 361 

average man to have far less reality than under the con- 
trasted conditions of more primitive life. 

Those deep instincts, indeed, which assert themselves in 
moments of exceptional crisis or peril and compel us to give 
a religious interpretation of experience are not in many 
minds habitually supported by the intellectual processes. In 
the supreme excitement of those unusual impending dangers, 
the rational processes are inhibited ; and the naked instincts 
seem to control the reaction in such situations. The man 
becomes suddenly religious and calls on God ; but when the 
excitement is over and he drops back into his ordinary in- 
tellectual grooves, he moves along again on a level on which 
there is no very definite or urgent sense of the immediate 
activity of God in the processes of the world. The ordi- 
nary incidents of experience are traced no further than to 
secondary natural causes, or to human actions and condi- 
tions. In the minds of many people living in our great 
centres of population the sense of God becomes very faint 
— seems, indeed, to survive only in those fundamental in- 
stincts which form the roots of it; and is rarely awakened 
into life except in certain great crises, which are probably 
becoming more rare with the extension of human control. 

All experience seems to show that the vitality of re- 
ligious belief is closely connected with the more pressing 
problems of human existence, if it be not true that it is a 
flower that grows in the soil of the more urgent hu- 
man needs. Unquestionably the sense of deep need 
adds greatly to the feeling of reality of those objects in 
which alone the need can find satisfaction. We elsewhere 
suggest that faith, in the sense of religious belief, might be 
defined as the soul's affirmation of the reality of those 
supersensible objects which seem necessary to the satisfac- 
tion of its fundamental needs. Now, the foremost and most 
urgent problem of men under modern conditions is not ad- 
justment to a mysterious and uncontrollable physical uni- 
verse. There are still difficulties, of course, in that realm 
of our experience ; but the conviction exists in many minds 



362 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

that we have in the wonderful resources of inventive human 
genius at least the clue to adjustment with that part of our 
environment. At any rate, the sense of maladjustment 
seems stronger in the field of the human environment. 
Ethical and social problems are to the front in the conscious- 
ness of modern men. Human intelligence and will are 
largely preoccupied with the need of establishing and main- 
taining satisfactory relations of men with one another; 
which is true not so much as to individual contacts as to the 
many-sided and complicated institutional life. This human 
and humanly controlled environment presses upon a man 
from every side; it encompasses him like an atmosphere. 
With the crowding together of men in dense populations, 
there come the increasing complexity and interdependence 
of the social organization and the multiplication of rela- 
tionships; and in and through it all there is a pervading 
consciousness of maladjustment and of distress, which at 
bottom is more moral than it is physical, though elements of 
the latter are by no means wanting. There is, indeed, the 
sense of being caught in a vast and tangled maze of 
problems whose urgency is only equalled by their enor- 
mous difficulty. Nearly all thoughtful minds have a feel- 
ing that, as members of a great social order, we are 
under the necessity of working out solutions of prob- 
lems whose widely ramifying difficulties are among the most 
baffiing which have ever confronted the human mind. They 
constitute a most insistent challenge to the intelligence and 
the conscience of the modern mind, and their emotional ap- 
peal is hardly less strong. 

Take but a momentary glance into the vast social life 
whose tides surge around us. Problems stare at you like 
sphinxes no matter in what direction you turn your gaze. 
Now, there are some problems which have a more universal 
character than others ; some which are more practical than 
others ; some that are more inevitable than others ; and there 
are some which are notable in that they have all three char- 
acteristics. They are universal, that is they press upon all 



THE MODERN MIND 363 

the people; they are practical in that they call for action; 
they are inevitable in that they must be met one way or 
another. The problems of social adjustment are of this 
character. If we look into the economic sphere, what do we 
see? We see that its problems come home to everybody; 
that they touch our daily lives in the most practical ways; 
and also that no- evasion of them is possible. It is evident, 
too, that our attitude toward these problems has its subtle 
and far-reaching reaction upon all other departments of our 
interests and activity. Around about these issues can be 
seen the myriads of human beings swiftly grouping them- 
selves into great masses with increasingly definite programs 
of action. The issue of this mighty controversy is nothing 
less than a drastic reorganization of human society. One 
can not read the literature of this subject, as it comes warm 
from all the groaning printing presses of the land, without 
perceiving that these problems are calling forth not only the 
most daring and ingenious exploits of human intelligence, 
but also the deepest and most serious passions of the human 
soul. All our interests are involved, whether material and 
selfish, or ideal and moral. 

If one looks into the political sphere there is a similar 
situation. More and more the State is being drawn into the 
consideration of the economic problems. Mighty economic 
forces are struggling for the control of the sovereign au- 
thority. But apart from this struggle of the economic 
giants in the political arena, there are deep and vital ques- 
tions concerning the relation of the individual to the State ; 
concerning the causes of crime and the treatment of the 
criminal ; concerning the relations between the local and the 
general governments; concerning the relations between the 
great nations of the earth, involving tariffs, immigration, ar- 
maments, peace and war, international tribunals — all of 
them questions of social adjustment of profound significance 
and of the utmost urgency. If these things were true un- 
der the normal conditions which existed prior to the out- 
burst of the great war, how tremendously has this enormous 



364 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

crisis emphasized them ! This convulsion of the world of 
humanity has given to all the problems of economic and 
political adjustment such compelling urgency that they tax 
the energy of the human spirit to the utmost, and must con- 
tinue to do so after the storm has passed. 

If attention be turned to the religious sphere, one surely 
finds nothing there but bristling problems. But among them 
all there is none that is more practically pressing and acute 
than that of the adjustment of the religious forces and 
groups to one another. Within each separate denomination 
questions of adjustment are urgent. Between separate de- 
nominational organizations the problem is even more acute. 
It confronts us most insistently on the home field; it looms 
large on the foreign mission field; and perhaps no issue in 
religious debate develops a higher intensity of emotion. Cor- 
relation and co-operation are advocated with profound 
passion and resisted with a passion even more uncom- 
promising, if not so buoyant and aggressive. 

Now, is there any wonder that men living in an environ- 
ment like this, which fairly seethes with problems of ad- 
justing men to one another individually and collectively, per- 
sonally and institutionally, nationally and internationally, 
should come to have a keen sense of the need of an ade- 
quate social ethic? There has been a lightening of the 
pressure of need on the one side of life, in respect to 
one of the great factors of environment, and an aggrava- 
tion of it on another side of life, in respect to the other 
great factor of the environment. This explains why the 
religion which would make an effective appeal to modern 
men, even those who have the strongest religious inclina- 
tions, must make manifest to them its ethical and social 
values. These values are exactly the most convincing cre- 
dentials which religion can present to the modern mind. 
The too general failure of current Christianity to meet 
these needs is one of the most potent reasons for the wide- 
spread scepticism and indifference to organized religion so 
notable in our great centres of population. 



THE MODERN MIND 365 

The growth of the democratic spirit is a notable result of 
the modern conditions. The profound changes we have dis- 
cussed inevitably bring about the breakdown of the caste 
spirit. Class barriers, if they do not fall away, are so much 
weakened that men pass with ease from one social grade to 
another, and a significant change comes about in the attitude 
both of the lower and of the upper ranks of society. The 
lowly of the earth lift their heads and aspire. Those masses 
which, under the conditions of early society were so passive 
and inert, so destitute of the sense of individual personal 
worth, feel under modern conditions the kindling of a 
strange flame in their hearts. Once they toiled and slaved, 
beast-like, rebelling only when goaded beyond possible en- 
durance ; but even then beast-like, hardly thinking of them- 
selves in human terms. Now they feel themselves to be 
men and claim with increasingly emphatic insistence all the 
privileges of humanity. Their minds under the powerful 
social stimulus of modern life wake up and cry out for 
knowledge, and, with the attainment of knowledge, they 
reach out for political and industrial power. Personal am- 
bitions stir within them. Each feels himself to be " as good 
as anybody else." They look with growing discontent upon 
the unequal and inequitable division of the world's goods, 
economic and cultural. If the bitterness which they feel 
sometimes bursts forth in deeds of violence, we need not 
be surprised. 

That sombre genius, Amiel, 1 has bitterly declared that 
these modern conditions were the breeding ground of spleen 
and envy. And it must be admitted that the intensification 
of the competitive struggle may and sometimes does result 
from the kindling of all men's spirits with the ambition 
which says " I am as good as anybody." It often expresses 
itself in the determination " to have as much as others at all 
costs." But, while it often finds expression in crude, un- 
ethical struggle to surpass others, even by pulling others 
down, the democratic spirit is at heart not anti-social. Its 

1 Fragments d'un Journal Intime, Tome I, p. 31. 



366 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

true and growing and permanent expression is the struggle 
to realize equality of opportunity for all and the complete 
unification of the interests of all. Evidently this spirit could 
not have a large growth among men until social de- 
velopment had reached a stage which accustomed men to 
regard the conditions of life as largely determined by man. 

The aspiring ambition of the lowly is answered in the 
modern world by an equally significant change of attitude 
on the part of those more fortunately situated. The social- 
democratic spirit has strangely infected " the upper classes." 
Men and women of those classes feel that the real meaning 
of life is to be found in this struggle to equalize human op- 
portunities and unify human interests — to build about men 
an environment which will assure to all the fundamental con- 
ditions of a truly human existence and stimulate every one 
to realize in the service of all the best and highest of which 
he is capable. This conception of the true mission of the 
fortunately situated could not have become so dominant 
until after men had come to realize that the environment in 
which they lived was in its most significant factors man- 
made. But neither could the social spirit have attained the 
proportions of a popular enthusiasm, influencing all classes, 
if the souls of men had not been touched by Christian in- 
spiration. This spirit exactly answers the genius of Chris- 
tianity ; and neither can attain a triumph without a triumph 
of the other. It is a great task of the pulpit to inculcate 
those principles which, while emphasizing the right to free 
individual self-expression, point men to service as the true 
road to self-realization. 

(8) If we ask more specifically as to the influence of all 
these conditions upon the idea of God, we shall find that 
conception undergoing modification in two general direc- 
tions. 

First, as to the idea of God in the minds of those whose 
mental attitudes have been profoundly influenced by science, 
as well as by the humanly controlled environment. They 
form a comparatively small group, to be sure ; but even in 



THE MODERN MIND 367 

numbers they are not insignificant, and they are an exceed- 
ingly important factor in their influence upon the intellectual 
life of the rising generation. In this group the tendency is 
toward vagueness and indefiniteness in their conception of 
the divine nature. God is regarded as a great influence or 
principle, the soul of goodness, truth, righteousness, beauty. 
But He is not clearly personalized. Perhaps there has been 
no more succinct expression of this idea of God than 
Matthew Arnold's memorable phrase — " a power not our- 
selves that make 3 for righteousness. " To such minds the 
attribution of definite personality to God seems to belittle 
Him, and also to involve too many rational difficulties. So 
the idea hangs in the background of their minds as a sort of 
semi-luminous cloud — beautiful but indefinite. 

We can see now, I think, how there has come to be a class 
of men who exhibit a high ethical and social enthusiasm, 
while disclaiming attachment to any form of organized 
Christianity and any definite theological belief. It may 
be true, and probably is, that ethical enthusiasm involves 
implicitly a conception of and an attitude toward the uni- 
verse which is essentially religious. However that may be, 
it is certain that under modern conditions there are to be 
found many ethical idealists whose religious presuppositions 
are too indefinite to receive an intelligible theological for- 
mulation. This type constitutes an interesting psychological 
phenomenon of our present-day life. They are not " the 
moralists" who were the objects of such severe warnings 
from the old-time preachers. They are not men who are 
looking for individual salvation on the ground of negative 
goodness, or a formal correctness of life — an attitude of 
mind which has certain fairly definite theological presup- 
positions. The men of whom we now are speaking are 
striving for social salvation rather than complacently cal- 
culating upon individual salvation ; and have as little patience 
with a negative and formal goodness as the preacher who is 
passionately pointing out the delusive character of " mere 
morality." They are enthusiasts, idealists, altruists. Their 



368 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

intellects are lit only by the afterglow of a faith whose 
sun is set, but their lives are fruitful in ethical ideals and 
enterprise. This interesting phenomenon is mentioned not 
for the purpose of discussing it according to its importance, 
but only to point out the relation between the mental atti- 
tude of such men and the conditions of our modern life. 

Second, we consider those whose thought of God, while 
it has been influenced more or less by the scientific spirit, 
has been mainly determined by the practical, daily contact 
with a predominantly human environment. With them the 
tendency is to magnify humanity and to humanize God. By 
the latter expression we do not mean to imply that an an- 
thropomorphic conception of God has not prevailed at every 
stage of human progress. But the primitive man's idea of 
God was deeply coloured by the mysterious and awful as- 
pects of nature; while the tendency of modern life is to 
purge the God-idea of these elements. The religious book x 
which is perhaps the most widely read and most remarkable 
produced in this stormy epoch proclaims outright and with 
the enthusiasm of intense conviction a finite and human God. 
And there are many signs indicating that among the ortho- 
dox the drift, while it has not by any means reached that 
extreme, is in the same general direction. 

The sentiment of awe in religion has been weakened. 
Men do not prostrate themselves before the deity with such 
a profound sense of their own nothingness. They do not 
think of themselves any more as the mere pawns on the 
chessboard of the universe. The sense of human power, 
human worth, human dignity, is a significant feature of 
the modern man's religious consciousness. This change, 
wrought by modern conditions of life, is more easily felt 
than formulated ; but somehow humanity stands for more in 
Christian thought and feeling. The kindlier, human aspects 
of Christianity receive a greater relative emphasis. The 
humanity of Jesus is far more emphasized, and this even 
when his essential unity with God is not denied. Indeed, 

1 Wells, " God, The Invisible King." 



THE MODERN MIND 369 

the Unitarian revolt does not seem to have been a result of 
the conditions now under consideration, but was rather a 
metaphysical protest growing out of the logical difficulty 
involved in the doctrine of the trinity, and based upon con- 
ceptions of God and man which modern conditions are pro- 
foundly modifying. In the religious consciousness of men 
of this type the hiatus between the divine and the human 
seems very much less than to men of the earlier period. 
Man has not been deified, though some extremists go almost 
that far; nor has God been abased to the rank and propor- 
tions of man, though His personality has been more humanly 
conceived. The complaint is not unfrequently heard that 
people are not as reverent as they were in the olden time. 
In a certain sense the statement is true. But it is a mistake 
to attribute this wholly or mainly to a lack of respect for 
divine and holy things. It is just as likely to be due to an 
increased respect for man, a higher appreciation of the 
human, simply as such, and to the growing feeling that God 
is actuated by motives that human beings can understand 
and looks with kindly and sympathetic interest upon the 
ordinary human impulses and experiences of every sort. 
The sense of being in the presence of God does not under 
ordinary conditions repress the natural human impulses as it 
did in former times and under other circumstances. The 
most devout people gathered in a place dedicated to the 
worship of the Divine Being do not have the consciousness 
of the presence of a mysterious and awful majesty whose 
power is directed by purposes which lie wholly beyond the 
comprehension of men and into which it is presumption for 
them to inquire. There was a certain strain of vague terror 
characteristic of the earlier type of piety which seems to have 
almost disappeared from the religious experience of this age. 
How much we may have gained, and how much we may 
have lost, by this subtile climatic change in the religious 
life is a question for serious thought; but that such a change 
has been going on can hardly be questioned. Nor can it be 
doubted that the increasing importance of the human as 



370 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

against the natural factors of the environment is largely re- 
sponsible for it, although it should be kept in mind that 
other equally pervasive and perhaps as powerful forces are 
working in the same general direction. 

The same tendency may be observed in the growing belief 
in man's control over his spiritual destinies. The evan- 
gelistic appeal places more emphasis upon the decisions of 
the human will. One listening to the evangelists, today, is 
struck by the frequency and prominence of such phrases as 
" making up one's mind," " deciding for Christ " and " ac- 
cepting or rejecting Christ"; and this even among those 
by whom the ancient doctrines of divine fore-ordination and 
unconditional election are still theoretically retained. Like- 
wise, in the theory of preaching most widely current today, 
there is an unwonted emphasis upon the influencing of the 
human will as the definite objective in preaching. The 
notion is already widespread and rapidlly spreading both 
among the religious psychologists and the unsophisticated 
plain people that the religious life is fundamentally a matter 
of training and education, of surrounding the young with 
the proper human environment. Even among the most con- 
servative there has been a decided increase in the sense of 
the importance of the educational process in the genesis and 
development of the religious life. The eternal destiny of the 
soul is, today, thought to be in the main the fruition of 
the individual's own volition plus the influences of his 
human environment — certainly this is far more true now 
than in any previous age of the world. Heaven and hell are 
felt to be the issues of human choices and human condi- 
tions, among those who maintain a definite and robust belief 
in hell — for other general causes, mainly of a sociological 
character, have to a large extent weakened that belief in the 
popular mind. In general, man's relation to God is thought 
of as one of co-operation or of opposition far more than in 
primitive conditions ; and this growing sense of man's con- 
trol over his spiritual destiny seems to have some connection 
with the consciousness of the range and power of human 



THE MODERN MIND 37 1 

volition, which is naturally developed by living in an environ- 
ment humanly organized and controlled. 

These conditions are producing a notable change in the 
whole realm of philosophical thinking. The pervasive in- 
fluence of modern conditions has not been crystallized into a 
complete and definite philosophical system; indeed, these 
conditions are not favourable to the formation and general 
acceptance of a logically finished system of thought. Life is 
too complex, too dynamic, too changeful to yield itself read- 
ily to finished theoretical formulation. The elaboration of 
completed systems of philosophy was much better suited to a 
simpler and more static condition of society. But if no 
rounded system of philosophy has sprung from the condi- 
tions of our present-day life, nor is likely to, there is never- 
theless a well-defined drift in philosophical thinking. Those 
types of theoretical thought, known as Pragmatism, Human- 
ism, Voluntarism, Personalism, seem to be in part at least 
the natural reaction upon the speculative intellect of the 
relative prominence of the humanly controlled environment. 
Underlying them all is the general idea that human wills are 
dynamic, creative forces co-operating with or opposing, it 
may be, a higher will or wills, and all together fashioning a 
universe which is in course of construction. It looks like a 
simple, universal inference which a theoretical mind could 
hardly fail to draw from the visible and evermore thrilling 
achievements of man's intelligence in actually fashioning the 
world in which he lives. This type of thought has had a 
profound influence upon the theological thinking of our 
times, for theological thought must always take the colour of 
the philosophy that prevails in any given age. Elaborately 
wrought out and widely accepted systems of theology seem 
to become more rare, though perhaps there has been no de- 
cline of interest in the intellectual problems of religion. 
Men think upon these problems yet, and think profoundly, 
and the conclusions which they reach seem to be notably in- 
fluenced by the humanistic and pragmatic modes of thought 
which have come to be so prevalent in our times. 



372 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

When a child is born, today, it is the heir of a marvellously 
rich human culture. All the accumulated achievements of 
the past of the human race are round about the newborn 
man — ideals, ethical codes, governments, laws, economies, 
religions, sciences, philosophies ; and all are organized into a 
vast aggregation of institutions behind which lies the long 
perspective of a rich and varied history. Into this great and 
manysided culture the newcomer must be initiated. That 
is the work of education, and the educational period is neces- 
sarily lengthened as this culture becomes richer and more ex- 
tensive. Indeed, it already requires more than a life-time 
for a man to gain a fair acquaintance with the accumulated 
results of human progress. The stream of culture dwindles 
to a tiny brooklet as we trace it back into the depths of an- 
tiquity; but, today, it has become a mighty Amazon, whose 
shores lie beyond the reach of the eye. The human domin- 
ion over nature has become so extensive, the human organi- 
zation of life has become so vast and multifarious, that from 
the cradle to the grave one's time is chiefly taken up in get- 
ting acquainted with and adjusting oneself to it all. Not 
only so; this social life which is now truly oceanic in its 
sweep has become less and less the merely fortuitous re- 
sultant of a myriad of human wills, each striving for its 
own ends unconscious of its correlation with the others ; and 
is coming to be directed more and more by a conscious col- 
lective intelligence and purpose. Each individual is coming 
to participate more and more consciously in social decisions 
and in helping to organize an environment in which the 
human factors are increasingly dominant. If a man's life 
were not affected down to its very roots by such conditions 
it would be a miracle ; and when we reflect that the human 
environment must become proportionately more and more 
dominant throughout indefinite future time, its significance 
for the mental and religious life of man becomes a matter 
of the first importance. 

Are we to conclude, then, that religion is destined to dis- 
appear? Far from it. It is useless to deny that profound 



THE MODERN MIND 373 

changes are taking place in religious ideas and in religious 
experience. It must be so in view of such a profound 
change in the conditions of human life. Every thoughtful 
man can readily sympathize with those earnest souls who 
are deeply apprehensive as to the future of spiritual religion. 
It is no wonder that it should appear to many good men as 
if modern tendencies are putting in peril the fundamental 
truths of Christianity. Unquestionably it is a time for most 
serious consideration; and the complacency of the easy- 
going optimism which can see no danger anywhere is far 
more irritating than reassuring. But surely a pessimistic in- 
terpretation of those modern tendencies is not the only 
possible one, and is not necessary. A far greater em- 
phasis must and will be placed upon the ethical and social 
aspects of religion, both in thought and in experience. But 
does that indicate the decline of religion or the disappearance 
of Christianity? May we not conclude that it points rather 
in the opposite direction ? Christianity originated in an age 
not unlike this, though one by no means so far removed from 
primitive conditions. It took root first and most vigorously 
in cities and achieved its greatest triumphs among people 
who lived in an environment largely human and humanly 
controlled. The great ideal which in the New Testament 
epoch lay like a rosy cloud on the horizon of the future was 
that of a redeemed and glorified city life. But the primitive 
modes of thought still remaining in that civilization had 
already begun to modify Christianity to its disadvantage, 
when the barbarian invasion swept Europe back into condi- 
tions almost as primitive as those which marked the tribal 
societies from which the ancient world had developed. 
Christianity then almost entirely lost its original simplicity 
and was corrupted by the elaboration of imposing cere- 
monies — many of them thought of as having a magical 
potency — which dwarfed its ethical and social meaning ; and 
was perverted by the establishment of a priesthood which 
administered the magical rites and interposed itself between 
God and the common people. Notwithstanding the present 



374 PSYCHOLOGY AND PREACHING 

seeming peril to many of the essential truths of religion, is it 
not reasonable to interpret the confused changes now going 
on as a gradual emergence of the fundamental principle of 
Christianity, so long obscured? Certainly the conditions 
of the present time have tended to place the emphasis upon 
the ethical element of Christianity. And did not Jesus place 
the emphasis there? A great conservative scholar says: 
" Our Lord's personal teachings consist mainly of mor- 
ality." x The natural inference would seem to be that 
Christianity in its primal and essential character as a prin- 
ciple of life is peculiarly adapted to the conditions of this 
age. 

iBroadus, "Preparation and Delivery of Sermons," p. 86. 



INDEX 



Achievement, results of modern 
passion for, 352-353- 

Action, voluntary. See Volun- 
tary action. 

Adams and Sumner, "Labor 
Problems," quoted, 315-316. 

Addams, Jane, cited on kindness 
of poor to one another, 314. 

Adjustment, function of atten- 
tion as consciousness engaged 
in guiding, 168-169. 

Alertness of modern mind, as 
compared with mind of primi- 
tive man, 352. 

Amiel, "Journal Intime," cited, 

365. 

Angell, J. R., definition of reflex 
act quoted from, 1 ; quoted as 
to definition of instinct, 3 ; on 
the emotions, 68; on relation 
of feeling, the conscious side 
of emotion, to the motor, or 
physical side, 71-72; on the 
emotions as complex proc- 
esses, 77; on relation between 
emotions and culture, 88; on 
volition and attention, 169; 
on voluntary attention, 173 ; 
on shifting of the attention, 
179-180; on the sphere of con- 
sciousness, 190. 

Anger, as an emotion effective 
in welding a crowd, 255-256. 

Animals, instinct of lower, com- 
pared with those of human 
species, 6-7; effect of differ- 
ence between nervous systems 
of young of, and those of 
young of human species, 13- 
14; mode of responsiveness 
which characterizes, 187-188 ; 
question of consciousness and 
psychical life existent in, 189- 
190. 

375 



Arnold, Felix, "Attention and 
Interest," cited, 165; on fluc- 
tuations in attention-waves, 
182. 

Arnold, Matthew, idea of God 
expressed by, 367. 

Assemblies, effect of, on mental 
processes of the individual, 
236 ; classes of, 236 ff. ; the ac- 
cidental concourse, 236-238 ; 
the purposive assembly; 238 
ff. ; the inspirational gather- 
ing, 239; three stages of men- 
tal unity in inspirational gath- 
erings, 240-244; stage of 
mental unity of, suited to in- 
struction, 245-246; methods of 
promoting process of fusion 
in, 248-254; kinds of emotion 
most effective in promoting 
mental fusion in, 254-260; 
question as to whether process 
of psychic fusion is conducive 
to genuine religious expe- 
rience, 260-261 ; the deliber- 
ative body, 261-264; change in 
character of deliberative as- 
semblies, 264. 

Association, influences affecting 
principles of, in modern so- 
ciety, 63-64. 

Association of ideas, linking of 
mental impressions the physi- 
cal counterpart of, 24. 

Assurance, vital, as one of the 
classes of belief, 152, 153-154. 

Attention, direction of, influ- 
enced by feeling, 149-150; out- 
lines of doctrine of, 164-165; 
definition of, 165; nature of, 
165-166; function of, as the 
selective action of conscious- 
ness, 166 ff. ; moving of, along 
line of interest, 167; relation 



376 



INDEX 



of, to volition, 169-170; classi- 
fication of, in three ways, 170; 
compulsory, 170-173 ; volun- 
tary, 173-175 ; spontaneous, 
175-177; narrow scope of, 
177-178; constant shifting of, 
178-181 ; fluctuations in inten- 
sity or degree of, 181-183; 
making sentences and para- 
graphs correspond to pulses 
of, 183-185. 

Authority, importance of, as a 
suggestive force, 226-227. 

Autonomy, resistance of an or- 
ganism to interference with 
its, 214; the higher the or- 
ganism, the greater its jeal- 
ousy for its, 214; suggestibil- 
ity varies inversely as the 
insistence of the personality 
upon maintaining its, 215-216. 

Awe, weakening of sense of, in 
present-day religion, 368. 



Bagley, W. C, "Educational 
Values," cited, 105, 203. 

Baldwin, J. M., "Thought and 
Things," cited, 164. 

Beecher, Henry Ward, device of, 
for compelling attention, 172 ; 
power of oratory to promote 
mental fusion shown by, 253 

Belief, discussion of, 135 ff. ; 
connection between doubt and, 
145-146, 148-149; operation _ of 
feeling in the determination 
of, 149-152; primitive credu- 
lity, rational conviction, and 
vital assurance the three gen- 
eral classes of, 152-154; feel- 
ing operative in formation of 
all three classes, 154; religious 
belief a member of class of 
vital assurance, 154-155. 

Bergson, H. L., cited as to the 
forth-reaching, onward-mov- 
ing character of life, 192. 

Bodily movement, concerted, as 
a means of promoting process 
of fusion in a crowd, 250-253. 



Boodin, J. R, "The Existence 
of Social Minds," cited, 249. 

Booth, "Life and Labours in 
London," quoted, 315. 

Broadus, J. A., " Preparation 
and Delivery of Sermons," 
discussion of structure of sen- 
tences in, 132 n. ; quoted on 
morality in Christ's personal 
teachings, 374. 

Bryan, W. J., power of oratory 
shown by, 253-254. 

Business man, defined, 321 ; dis- 
tinction made between the in- 
dividual and the corporate 
type of, 321-322; importance 
of, under modern conditions, 
322-324 ; intellectual charac- 
teristics of, 324-328; ethical 
peculiarities of, 328-332 ; dou- 
ble standard of ethics accepted 
by, 330-332; religious pecu- 
liarities of, 332-337- 

Character-making, importance of 
sentiments . and ideals in, 109- 
110, 112-114. 

Children, extraordinary sugges- 
tibility of, 218-220; quick ef- 
fect of crowd-suggestion 
upon, 246-247. 

Christianity, predisposing condi- 
tions favouring rise of, 276; 
modern emphasis upon ethical 
element of, 374. 

City, environmental conditions 
in the, and mental effects of, 
343-349. 

Class consciousness among la- 
bouring men, and effect on 
their ethical life, 316-318. 

Climatic factors, effect of, in 
mental epidemics, 277-278. 

Closed mind, attitude of the, 
143-144; dangers of this con- 
dition, 146-147 ; advantages 
posessed by the open mind 
over, 147-148. 

Coe, summary of theories of the 
subconscious by, 16-17. 

Collective moods, among the pre- 



INDEX 



377 



disposing conditions of mental 
epidemics, 274-275. 

Communication, relation of easy 
means of, to mental epidemics, 
283. 

Compulsory attention, character- 
istics of, 170-172. 

Concerted action, a means oi 
promoting process of fusion 
in an assembly, 250-253. 

Confidence of subject, securing 
the, in use of suggestion, 225- 
229. 

Consciousness, relation between 
reflex acts and, 2; question of 
extent of, involved in instinct, 
4; discussion of, as one of the 
controls of conduct, 8-1 1 ; is 
life become luminous, 11; re- 
lation of habit to, 11-16; dim- 
ness of, in animals as com- 
pared with man, 13-14; feel- 
ing-tones an accompaniment 
of, 65-66; why some expe- 
riences cause pleasant and 
others unpleasant states of, 
75 - 79 ; attention defined as fo- 
calized, 165-166; attention the 
selective action of, 166-168; 
attention the adaptive function 
of, 168; species of concentra- 
tion of, involved in spontan- 
eous attention, 175-176 ; the 
span of, 178; varying degrees 
of intensity of concentration 
of, 181 ; degrees of, in veg- 
etable, animal, and human or- 
ganisms, 189-191 ; labouring 
man at his work characterized 
by state of diffused, 308. 

Conservatism, appeal to senti- 
ment of, as a means of pro- 
moting mental fusion, 258-260. 

Control of emotions, extent of 
voluntary, 1 18-120. 

Controls of conduct, general, I- 
18. 

Controversies, futility of, made 
apparent, 60-61. 

.Conviction, rational, as one of 
the classes of belief, 152-153. 



necessity of, in preachers, in 
treatment of doubt, 162-163. 

Co-operation, problem of, as re- 
lated to differentiation of 
mental systems, 61-64. 

Co-ordination and co-operation 
of Christian forces, approved 
by the business man, 336-337. 

Crazes, popular, 265-266; exam- 
ples of, 266-268. 

Creative synthesis, theory of a, 
249. t 

Credulity, primitive, as one of 
the classes of belief, 152-153. 

Creedal union, problem of, re- 
sulting from differentiation of 
mental system, 59-60. 

Crowding of people, as a means 
of promoting process of men- 
tal fusion, 248-250. 

Crowd-suggestion, development 
of state of, 242-244; members 
of assembly first to yield to, 
246-247. 

Crowds, psychology of, 236-238; 
fallacious notions concerning, 
249. See Assemblies. 

Crusades, generally healthy 
character of, viewed as mental 
epidemics, 268 ; why impossible 
under conditions of modern 
society, 287. 

Culture, enrichment of life 
through, 86-89; value of, in 
religious life, 90-91 ; more 
even, regular, continuous flow 
of the feelings brought about 
hy> 91-92; intimate relation of 
religion and, 92-93. 

Davenport, F. M., quoted con- 
cerning religious revivals, 288. 

Deliberative assembly, special 
attitude of mind of individuals 
composing, 261 ; desirability of 
keeping small, 261-263 ; safe- 
guards needed by against 
tendency to fusion, 263 ; tend- 
ency toward unity of thought 
in, of a different breed from 
unity induced by emotionaj 



378 



INDEX 



fusion of individuals, 263- 
264; steps leading to present- 
day change in character of 
the, 264. 

Delivery, consideration of, as a 
means of arousing feeling, 
116-125. 

Democratic spirit, growth of, as 
a result of modern conditions, 

3 6 5- , r . 

Denunciation, avoidance of, in 

treatment of doubt, 158- 161. 
Descriptive speech, effectiveness 

of, for arousing feeling, 125- 

128. 
Desire, relation of feeling to, 

79-81. 

Detached subconsciousness, the- 
ory of a, 17-18. m 

Devotion, creating impression of, 
a condition of suggestive 
power, 226. 

Dewey, John, "How We 
Think," quoted, 34, 38, 47. 

Differentiation of mental sys- 
tems 47 ff. ; influences which 
cause, 47-52; influences of 
native organic differences, 49- 
50; influences of intellectual 
environment, 50-51 ; high de- 
gree of differentiation result- 
ing from the various influ- 
ences, 51-52; effect of upon 
meaning, 52-56. 

Diseases due to modern environ- 
mental conditions, 345-346. 

Dishonesty, form of doubt 
called, 159. 

Dispositions, native, place of, 
among controls of conduct, 
7-8. 

Dissociation theory of the sub- 
conscious, 16-17. 

Division of labour, influence of, 
upon mental systems, 48-49. 

Dogmatism, danger _ of tendency 
to habit of, in ministers, 293- 

295. 
Doubt, a state or attitude result- 
ing from the arrest of the 
process of believing, 142-143; 



explanation of, demanded 
rather than of belief, 145; 
when justifiable, 146; intimate 
connection between belief and, 
148-152 ; the present an era of, 
157; the preacher's relation to 
religious, 158-163. 

Drama, influence of, in develop- 
ing the sentiments, 112; use 
of, to secure spontaneous at- 
tention, 177. 

Dramatic action, arousing of 
feeling by, 120-123; distinction 
between arousing feeling by, 
and by expression of it in 
voice and gesture, 123-125. 

Dunlap, "A System of Psychol- 
ogy," quoted, 28, 212-213; 
quoted on effects to be 
achieved by singing in assem- 
blies, 251-252. 

Economic dependence of minis- 
ters, effects of, 301-306. 

Economic problems, pressure of 
modern, for consideration in 
political sphere, 363-364. 

Education, results from, in the 
enrichment of life and exten- 
sion of religious feelings, 86- 
89. 

Elsenhans, quoted concerning 
memory images, 25-26. 

Emotion, feeling and, 68-69 ; re- 
lation between physiological 
disturbance and feeling-tone, 
70-71 ; relation of feeling, the 
conscious side of, to the motor, 
or physical side, 71-75 ; com- 
plexity of, as a process, 77; 
effects of indulgence in exces- 
sive, 84; three ways of arous- 
ing, 115; excitation of, by ex- 
pression and communication as 
a means of arousing feeling, 
117-125; skilful use of lan- 
guage as a means of arousing, 
125-132; deliberation^ and 
choice rendered impossible by, 
204 ; suggestibility of those un- 
der sway of, 229-230; kinds 



INDEX 



379 



of, most effective in promot- 
ing mental fusion, 254 ff. ; fear, 
254-255; anger, 255-256; love, 
256-257; that which is evoked 
by appeal to sentiment of lib- 
erty, 257-258; sentiment of 
conservatism, or attachment to 
that which is old, 258-260; 
question as to value of emo- 
tional fusion, 260-261; com- 
munication of, in mental epi- 
demics, 269; necessity of keep- 
ing religious, within bounds of 
self-control, 288-289. 

Emotional life, intelligence and 
the enrichment of the, 86-90; 
direction and organization of, 
the chief function of preach- 
ing, 112. 

Emotions, when organized into 
systems, become sentiments, 
94; question of extent of vol- 
untary control of, 1 18-120; re- 
sponsiveness of, to rhythm, 
129-132. 

Employment, effects of irregu- 
lar, on labouring man, 315- 
316. 

Environment, effect of, on in- 
stincts, 6; function of con- 
sciousness to enable the or- 
ganism to adapt itself to, 10- 
1 1 ; effect of, on individual's 
consciousness, _ 14-15 ; influ- 
ence of the intellectual, on 
mental system, 50-51 ; organs 
of body which effect adjust- 
ments between organism and 
the external, 72; change of, to 
develop new sentiments or 
ideals, 109; relation of shift- 
ing of attention to complexity 
and many-sidedness of, 178- 
179; responsiveness of the liv- 
ing being to its, 186-192; con- 
ditions of, working to produce 
the modern mind, 338-349 ; the 
natural and the human factors 
of> 33&~339', comparative im- 
portance of the natural, under 
primitive conditions, 339-340; 



dominance of interests grow- 
ing out of pressure of the nat- 
ural, 340-341 ; mental effects 
produced by living under con- 
ditions of natural, 341-342; 
mental effects of conditions 
under the modern, 342-344; 
conditions of modern, 344- 
349; effect of modern, on 
thinking and feeling of men, 
349 ff. ; modern conditions 
which stimulate men to im- 
press themselves upon their, 
352-353; modern view that re- 
ligious life is a matter of 
proper human, 370. 

Epidemics, mental. See Mental 
epidemics. 

Ethics, double standard of, ac- 
cepted by the business man, 
330-332; emphasis placed by 
present-day conditions upon 
element of, in Christianity, 

374- 
Excitation of feeling, means and 

methods of, 1 15-134. 
Exposition, problem of, resulting 

from differentiation of mental 

systems, 58-59. 
Expression and communication, 

excitation of emotion by, 117- 

125. 

Fashion, influence of, on women 
due to their collective sugges- 
tibility, 222-223. 

Fatigue, the cause of fluctuation 
in attention, 182-183. 

Fear, as an emotion for pro- 
moting mental fusion in 
crowds, 254-255. 

Feeling, problem of, in mental 
life, 65 ; distinction between 
feeling -tone and, 65-68; emo- 
tion and, 68-69 ; distinction be- 
tween pain and unpleasant- 
ness, 69-70; relation between 
physiological disturbance and 
feeling-tone, 70-71 ; relation of 
feeling, or conscious side of 
emotion, to the motor, or 



3 8o 



INDEX 



physical side, 71-75 ; why some 
experiences cause pleasant and 
others unpleasant states of 
consciousness, 75-79 ; relation 
of, to desire, 79-81 ; and habit, 
81-83; strength of stimulus as 
related to the feeling-tone, 83- 
86; effect of growing intelli- 
gence upon character of, 86- 
90; effective means and 
methods of exciting, 115 ff . ; 
delivery as a means of arous- 
ing, 1 16-125; exciting of, by 
skilful use of language, 125- 
132; necessity of harmony be- 
tween emotions evoked, for 
arousing of, 133-134; opera- 
tion of, in the determination 
of belief, 149-152, 154. 

Feeling-tones, distinguished from 
feelings, 65-68; relation be- 
tween physiological disturb- 
ance and, 70-71. 

Fiction, appropriate for purpose 
of developing the sentiments, 
112. 

Flattery, impression of, to be 
avoided in exerting suggestive 
influence, 225. 

Fluctuation of the attention, 
181-185. 

"Focalized consciousness, atten- 
tion as, 165-166. 

Forecasting, power of, confined 
to consciousness of human or- 
ganisms, 193- 

Freedom of the will, question of, 
196-200. 

Frugality, formerly held a vir- 
tue by the business man, 329. 

Function, instinct denned in 
terms of, 3. 

Functional meaning, 43-45. 

Fusion, means of promoting 
process of, in assemblies, 248- 
254. 

Garb, psychological effect of the 

preacher's, 297. 
God, different meanings borne by 

the word, 54; means of devel- 



oping love for, by preachers, 
1 12 ; preacher's interpretation 
of message of, 293-294; influ- 
ences leading to present day 
confusion as to relation of, to 
the universe, 358-359; sup- 
planting of, in the modern 
mind, by human relationships 
and humanly controlled en- 
vironment, 360-366 ; idea of, in 
minds influenced by science 
and by humanly controlled en- 
vironment, 366-367 ; concep- 
tion of, held by ethical ideal- 
ists, 367-368; humanizing of, 
by one class of modern 
thinkers, 368; modern view of 
man's relation to, as one of 
co-operation or of opposition, 
370-371. 

Gravity, preacher's tendency to 
habitual and merely superficial, 
295-298. 

Great Fear, the, an illustration 
of mental epidemic, 267; pre- 
disposing causes of, 274-275. 

Habit, instinct improperly view- 
ed, as, 4-5 ; influence of, on 
instincts, 6; discussion of, 
among the controls of con- 
duct, 11-16; relation of feel- 
ing and, 81-83; development 
of sentiments and ideals a 
process of habit formation, 
111-112. 

Head and heart, struggle be- 
tween, a significant phe- 
nomenon, 156. 

Historians, selection in recall of 
images by, 26-27. 

Honesty, the first virtue among 
business men, 329. 

Humanity, love of, to be devel- 
oped by preachers by use of 
sentiments and ideals, 112-113. 

Huntington, Ellsworth, " Civil- 
ization and Climate," cited, 
278 n. 

Hylan, " The Fluctuation of the 
Attention," cited, 183. 



INDEX 



381 



Hypnosis, state of abnoral sug- 
gestibility called, 210; differ- 
entiated from other forms of 
suggestion, 211-212; similarity 
of crowd-suggestion to, 243. 

Hysteria, abnormal nervous con- 
dition called, 210. 

Ideals, sentiments and, dis- 
cussed, 94 ff. ; definition and 
analysis of, 105-107; closeness 
of relation between sentiments 
and, 108-109; importance of 
sentiments and, as character- 
makers, 109-110; process of 
development of sentiments 
and, 110-114. 

Ignorance, penalty of, seen in 
limiting of interest of life, 87- 
88. 

Illustration, use of, to secure 
spontaneous attention, 177. 

Imagery, forms of, 20-22. 

Images, mental. See Mental 
images. 

Imagination, use of, to solve 
problems of understanding, 56. 

Immortality, modern decline in 
interest and belief in per- 
sonal, 353. 

Independence, the preacher's 
preservation of his, 304-306. 

Indignation, transformation of 
emotion of anger into, 255- 
256. 

Indirection, method of, in nor- 
mal suggestion, 224-225. 

Industry, as a virtue emphasized 
by the business man, 329. 

Inspirational gathering, the, 239 
ff. 

Instincts, definition and explan- 
ation of, 3-7. 

Instruction, stage of mental 
unity of assembly best suited 
to, 245-246. 

Intellect, struggle between the, 
and the inclinations, 156; in- 
secure support found for re- 
ligious beliefs in intellectual 
forms, 157. 



Intellectual characteristics of 
business type of mind, 324- 
328. 

Intellectual environment, influ- 
ence of, on mental system, 50- 

Intellectualism and emotionalism 
compared as to value in re- 
ligion, 288-289. 

Intelligence, effect of, upon en- 
richment of the emotional life, 
86-90. 

Intensity of attention, 181-185. 

Interest, the moving of attention 
along the line of, 167; state of, 
in spontaneous attention, 175- 
176. 

Interruption, the characteristic 
of compulsory attention, 170. 

Intolerance, necessity of guard- 
ing against, by ministers, 293- 
294. 

Isolation of labouring men, so- 
cial effect of, 310-31 1. 

James, William, quoted concern- 
ing definition of instinct, 3 ; on 
consciousness involved in in- 
stinct, 4; on belief, 135. 

James-Lange theory of the emo- 
tions, 70. 

Jesus, conditions favouring re- 
forms at the time of, 275-276; 
present-day emphasis on hu- 
manity of, 368; morality in 
personal teachings of, 374. 

Labouring men, defined, 306; 
importance and growth of 
class, 306-307; acuteness of 
problems of, 307; conditions of 
life as affecting their intellec- 
tual development, 307-310; in- 
evitable trend of, toward ma- 
terialism of the crudest type, 
310; relation of leisure of, to 
their intellectual life, 311-313; 
characteristics of emotional 
side of personality of, 313- 
314; ethical peculiarities of, 
314-318; reaction of condi- 



3 82 



INDEX 



tions of, upon their religious 
life, 318-319. 

Land booms in South, example 
of popular mania, 266. 

Language, evolution of, with ad- 
vance of culture, 32; skilful 
use of, as a means of arousing 
emotion, 125-132. 

Layman's Missionary Movement, 
tendency of business type of 
mind shown in, 326-327. 

Leisure, effect of, upon develop- 
ment of mental life, 290; re- 
sults of labouring man's lack 
of, 307-308, 31 1-3 13. 

Levity, an unbecoming quality 
in ministers, 296, 298. 

Liberty, use of emotion evoked 
by sentiment of, for promoting 
mental fusion, 257^258. 

Life, the forth-reaching, on- 
ward-moving character of, 
192-194. 

Literary style, relation between 
mental images and, 32-33. 

Literature, different feelings for 
nature shown in early and 
later, 350-351. 

Locomotive engine, divergence 
in significance of, to different 
mental systems, 54~55- 

Loneliness, intolerance of, by 
modern man, 340-350. 

Love, as a means of promoting 
mental fusion in an assembly, 
256-257. 



MacCunn, John, _ quoted as to 
importance of ideals, 109. 

McDougall, William, definition 
of an instinct by, quoted, 3-4; 
quoted on emotions, 68; defi- 
nition of sentiment by, 94; 
quoted on the sentiments, 203. 

Machinery, effect of familiarity 
with, upon modern conception 
of universe, 356-357- 

Maier, cited on the emotions, 
69. 

Man, instinctive organization of, 



compared with that of ani- 
mals, 6-7. 

Materialism, how tendency q£ 
labouring man is toward, 310; 
effect of the labouring man's, 
on his religious side, 319-320. 

Meaning, of sensation or mental 
image, 42; primary or func- 
tional, 43-45; secondary or 
theoretical, and its relation to 
the functional, 45-47; effect 
upon, of differentiation of 
mental systems, 52-56. 

Mental epidemics, defined, 265; 
two broad classes of, dis- 
tinguished, 265-266 ; popular 
manias or crazes, 266-268; 
two fundamental processes re- 
sulting in, 268-269; laws of, 
270 ff. ; movement in waves, 
270-271 ; waves of collective 
emotion followed by reaction 
in opposite direction, 271 ; two 
powerful popular emotions can 
not occur at same time, 271- 
272; spread of, along lines of 
mental homogeneity, common 
interest, and frequent contact, 
272; conditions favourable to 
occurrence of, 272-278; bear- 
ing of progress of society upon 
phenomena of, 278 ff. ; rela- 
tion of tendencies of modern 
life to, 283-287; greater value 
of, when brought under direc- 
tion of intelligence, 288. 

Mental equipment and organ- 
ization, suggestibility varies 
inversely as the, 216-218. 

Mental image, question of what 
is a, 19-20; defined as a con- 
scious copy of an experience, 
20 ; forms of imagery, 20-22 ; 
recall of the image, 22-29; 
viewed as our intellectual 
stock-in-trade, 29-33. 

Mental systems, 34 ff. ; processes 
of organization, 35-39; con- 
struction of a philosophy, 39- 
40; meaning of sensation or 
mental image, 42-43; primary 



INDEX 



383 



or functional meaning, 43- 
45; secondary or theoretical 
meaning and its relation to the 
functional, 45-47; differentia- 
tion of mental systems, 47- 
52; effect upon meaning, of 
the differentiation of, 5 2_ 56; 
practical problems involved, 
56-64. 

Methods of suggestion, 224-235. 

Miller, " Psychology of Think- 
ing," cited, 36. 

Mind, the modern. See Modern 
mind. 

Ministers, study of, as a psycho- 
logical type, 291 ff. ; breadth 
of occupation, 291-293 ; dan- 
ger of development of a ver- 
satile but shallow mental type, 
292-293; the narrowing tend- 
encies of occupation, 293 ff. ; 
tendency to habit of dogma- 
tism, 293-295 ; tendency to 
merely habitual and superficial 
gravity of tone and manner, 
295-298 ; chief concern of, with 
application of will of God to 
lives of men, 298-301 ; influ- 
ence of economic dependence 
of, 301-306. See Preachers. 

Mobs, anger the emotion that 
usually sways, 255-256. 

Mob-state, question as to 
whether normal or abnormal, 
210-21 1 ; origins of, 237; steps 
leading to stage of psychic 
fusion which is the, 242; acts 
of mass of individuals in a, 
243-244. 

Modern mind, the, 338 ff. ; con- 
ditions of environment which 
produce the, as contrasted 
with conditions under primi- 
tive environment, 338-349; ef- 
fect of modern environmental 
conditions on dispositions and 
mental attiudes, 349 ff. ; in- 
tolerance of loneliness, 349- 
350; aesthetic delight in na- 
ture, 350-351 ; less perfect 
rhythmical adjustment to na- 



ture, 351 ; strenuous, over- 
stimulated character, 352; pas- 
sion for achievement, 352-353 ; 
effects wrought by great de- 
velopment of science, 353-360; 
removal of God into the back- 
ground of thought, 360-366; 
modification of idea of God, 
366-374. 

Moll, Albert, quoted on hyp- 
notism, 211-212. 

Morality, of labouring man, 314- 
318; in Christ's personal teach- 
ings, 374- 

Mother, development of a 
child's sentiment for its, 1 10- 
iii. 

Motility, sensitivity plus, as the 
mode of responsiveness char- 
acterizing animal life, 187-188. 

Music, reasons for importance 
of, to the emotional life, 130; 
for promoting process of fu- 
sion in assemblies, 251-253. 

Mysticism, of religions of primi- 
tive peoples, 341-342; lacking 
in the business type of mind, 
332. 

Natural environment, compara- 
tive _ importance of, under 
primitve conditions, 339-340 ; 
dominance of interests grow- 
ing out of pressure of the, 
340-341 ; mental effects pro- 
duced by living under condi- 
tions of, 341-342. 

Natural law, tendencies favour- 
ing present-day reign of, 353- 
358; philosophical problem 
presented by, and suggested 
solution, 359-360. 

Nature, aesthetic delight in, char- 
acteristic of modern mind, 350- 
351; rhythmical adjustment to, 
less perfect in modern than in 
primitive conditions, 351. 

Neural theory of the subcon- 
scious, 16. 

Normal and abnormal sugges- 
tion, 210-211. 



384 



INDEX 



Occupation, significance of, in 
development of mental life, 
47-49; determination of hab- 
itual mental processes by, 290. 

Occupational types, 290 ft". ; the 
ministerial, 291-306; the wage- 
earning, 306-321 ; the business 
type, 32i 1 337- 

Old, passions aroused by appeal 
to sentiment for the, 25&-260. 

Openness, lack of, characteristic 
of art of suggestion, 233-234. 

Oratory, development of, with 
progress of society, 15-16; 
promotion of mental fusion by 
imaginative, passionate, 2$$- 

254. 
Organs of body, grouped accord- 
ing to function, 72. 



Pain, distinction between un- 
pleasantness and, 69-70. 

Panics, effect of emotion of fear 
shown in, 254; financial, as ex- 
amples of mental epidemics, 
267; peculiarity of financial, 
among mental epidemics of 
modern times, 286-287. 

Passion, suggestibility of those 
under sway of, 229-230. 

Paul, the apostle, on keeping re- 
ligious emotions within bounds 
of self-control, 288-289. 

Peculiarity, arousing of feeling 
by a, 116-117. 

Personality, power of, as a sug- 
gestive force, 227-228. 

Persuasion, greater importance 
of function of, in human life, 
with each upward advance, 15; 
distinction between suggestion 
and, 234-235. 

Philosophical thinking, trend of 
present-day, 371. 

Philosophy, construction of a, 
by men, 39; definition of a, 
39- 

Physiological disturbance, rela- 
tion between feeling-tone and, 
70-71. 



Pictorial language, effectiveness 
of, for arousing feeling, 125- 
128. 

Pierce, Professor, inventor and 
critic of phrase "detached 
subconsciousness," 17. 

Pillsbury, " Psychology of Rea- 
soning," cited, 42; on doubt 
and belief, 145. 

Pleasant and unpleasant states 
of consciousness, cause of, by 
different experiences, 75-79. 

Poetry, appropriateness of, for 
developing the sentiments, 112; 
importance of, to the emo- 
tional life, 130. 

Politics, demoralization in, re- 
sulting from indulgence in ex- 
cessive emotions, 84-85. 

Popular manias, 265-266; illus- 
trations of, 266-268. See 
Mental epidemics. 

Population, relation of density 
of, to mental epidemics, 282- 
283. 

Preachers, how sentiments and 
ideals are supremely signifi- 
cant to, 109-110; relation of, 
to religious doubt, 158-163; 
means of compelling attention 
by, 171-172; should make as 
small demand as possible on 
voluntary attention, 174-175 ; 
means of securing spontaneous 
attention, 177; significance to, 
of mental characteristic of 
shifting attention, 179-181 ; 
heed to be paid by, _ to fluc- 
tuations of the attention, 183- 
185; should be men of strong 
will, 205-206; should aim at 
eliciting a voluntary response 
from their hearers, 206; dis- 
tinction to be observed by, be- 
tween suggestion and persua- 
sion, 235; how method of sug- 
gestion is rendered easy to, 
235; special wisdom and un- 
derstanding of psychological 
laws necessary to, in making 
appeals to promiscuous assem- 



INDEX 



38s 



blies, 247; use of emotion of 
fear by, 255; use of anger by, 
255-256; use of love, 257; use 
of appeal to sentiment of lib- 
erty, 258; appeal to sentiment 
for the old to be avoided by, 
259-260 ; problems presented 
to, by labouring class, 307 ; im- 
portance to, of problem pre- 
sented by labouring class and 
modern economic conditions, 
320-321 ; religious peculiarities 
of the business man to be spe- 
cially noted by, 336-337; note 
to be taken by, of modern de- 
cline in belief in personal im- 
mortality, 353; problem pre- 
sented to, by modern popular 
conception of natural law, 
360; task of, to point men to 
service as the true road to self- 
realization, 366. 
Preaching, as one method of 
modifying strength of in- 
stincts, 6 ; progress of, with 
advance of society, 16; rela- 
tion between mental images 
and, 32-33 ; problem of making 
one's self understood, 56-58; 
problem of exposition in, 58- 
59; loss of strength of stimu- 
lus resulting from repetition, 
83 ; danger of high emotional 
effects in, 84-86; value of cul- 
ture in, 90-91 ; importance of, 
as a means of developing sen- 
timents and ideals, 112-114; 
effective means and methods 
of exiciting feelings in, 115- 

134. 

Prejudices, origin and nature 
of, 40-44; responsibility of na- 
tional, for war, 41 ; sharing of, 
as a means of securing confi- 
dence, 228-229. 

Presentations, six ways in which 
the mind may react to new, 
136-144; consequences to be 
deduced from, 144-148. 

Prestige, suggestive force of, 
226-227. 



Primary and secondary mean- 
ing, 43-47. 

Processes of mental organ- 
ization, 35-41. 

Public opinion, influence of, on 

deliberative assemblies, 264. 

Purposive assembly, the, 238 ff. 



Racial habit, view of instinct as, 
4-5; effect of, upon sugges- 
tibility of a population, 277- 

Rationality, sensitivity plus mo- 
tivity _ plus, the mode of re- 
sponsiveness characterizing 
human life, 187-188; what con- 
stitutes rationality, 191. 

Reading, importance of, for de- 
veloping the sentiments, 112. 

Reality of anything, sense of, 
derived by adjusting oneself to 
it, 309-310. 

Recall of mental image, 22 ff. ; 
conditions of recall, 23-25; in- 
exactness of recalled image, 
25-29. 

Reflective and unreflective or- 
ganization in mental system, 
36-41. 

Reflexes, definition and elucida- 
tion of, 1-3 ; distinction be- 
tween instincts and, 3. 

Regularity in repetition, avoid- 
ance of, 231-232. 

Religion, demoralizing effects in, 
of indulgence of excessive 
emotions, 84-86; relation be- 
tween growing intelligence 
and, 86-89; close relation be- 
tween culture and, 90-93; the 
outlook for, 372-374. 

Religious experience, value to, 
of process of psychic fusion, 
260-261. 

Religious movements, conditions 
favourable to, as a form of 
mental epidemic, 276. 

Religious peculiarities of the 
business man, 332-337. 

Repetition, suggestion rendered 



386 



INDEX 



effective by, 230-231 ; cautions 
regarding use of, 231-232. 

Repetition of experience, effect 
of, upon feeling, 81-83. 

Reputation, importance of, as a 
suggestive force, 226-227. 

Resistance of an organism to in- 
terference with its autonomy, 
214. 

Response, character of, to be 
elicited by the preacher from 
those to whom he appeals, 
206-207 ; immediateness of, es- 
sential to effectiveness of sug- 
gestion, 232-233. 

Responsiveness of the living 
being to its surroundings, 186 ; 
modes of, which characterize 
the vegetable, the animal, and 
the human grades of life, 187- 
188. 

Revivals, discussion of value of, 
260-261 ; mental epidemics il- 
lustrated by, 267, 268; certain 
type of, impossible under con- 
ditions of modern society, 287 ; 
mistake of bringing on, by ar- 
tificial methods, 288; no 
ground for fear that genuine, 
are things of the past, 289; 
loss in extravagance made up 
by gain in moral significance 
and social value, 289. 

Rhythm, in intensity of atten- 
tion, 181-185 ; of singing in as- 
semblies, 251-252. 

Rhythm of speech, arousing 
feeling by, 128-132. 

Rhythmical adjustment to na- 
ture, less perfect in modern 
than in primitive conditions, 

351. 
Ribot, T. A., "The Psychology 
of the Emotions," quoted, 73- 

74 ' , ,. . 

Ritualistic and non-ritualistic 

methods contrasted as means 
of inducing mental unity, 251. 

Ross, E. A., " Social Psychol- 
ogy," quoted, 250. 

Russia, reasons for points of dif- 



ference between revolution in, 
and French Revolution, 278. 

Science, effect of development 
of, on modern environmental 
conditions, 349; effects upon 
mental attitude of men, 353- 
360. 

Scott, W. D., "Psychology of 
Public Speaking," cited, 21, 
131, 254; discussion of sen- 
tence-structure from psycho- 
logical point of view, 132 n. 

Sectarianism, reasons for busi- 
ness man's lack of, 334-336. 

Selection, a characteristic of the 
action of intelligence, 26-27. 

Sensation, legitimate and ille- 
gitimate in, 172-173. 

Sensationalism, why objection- 
able, 172-173. 

Sensitivity, the mode of respon- 
siveness which characterizes 
vegetable life, 187-188; plus 
motility, characterizing animal 
life, 188; plus motility plus ra- 
tionality, characterizing human 
life, 188. 

Sentence-structure, importance 
of, in public speaking, 132. 

Sentiments, discussion of ideals 
and, 94 ff. ; definition of, 94- 
95 ; classification of, as con- 
crete or particular and abstract 
or general, 95-97; classified by 
scale of moral values, 97-102; 
close relation between ideals 
and, 108-109; ideals deter- 
mined in large measure by, 
109; importance of ideals and, 
109-110; supreme importance 
of, for character-making, 109- 
110; process of development 
of, 110-114. 

Shand, Alexander F., definition 
of sentiments by, 94. 

Sidis, Boris, " Psychology of 
Suggestion," quoted, 249-250; 
story of tulip craze in Hol- 
land related by, 266-267. 

Simmel, "Die Probleme der 



INDEX 



387 



Geschichtsphilosophie," # quot- 
ed, 155; cited concerning ef- 
fect of modern environmental 
conditions on man's attitude 
toward nature, 35,1. 

Singing, effectiveness of, in pro- 
moting process of fusion in 
assemblies, 251-253. 

Social changes, predisposing con- 
ditions to mental epidemics 
found in, 275-276. 

Social mind, theory of a, 249. 

Social organization, lack of, 
under conditions of primitive 
life, 340-341 ; bewildering 
growth of, in modern life, 348- 

349- 

Social problems, pressure of 
modern, 362-363. 

Society, stages of, and their 
bearing upon phenomena of 
mental epidemics, 278-287. 

Sombart, Zi Der Bourgeois," 
cited, 323, 328, 330. 

Specialization, influence of pres- 
ent-day, on mental systems, 

48-49. 

Speculation, crazes for, as ex- 
amples of mental epidemics, 
267. 

Spencer, Herbert, struggle be- 
tween head and heart illus- 
trated by, 156. 

Spontaneous attention, discus- 
sion of, 175-177. 

Stimuli, like response to, by like- 
minded persons, resulting in 
mental epidemics, 268-269. 

Stimulus, loss of strength 
of, from repetition, 82-83; 
strength of, as related to the 
feeling-tone, 83-86. 

Story-telling, influences affecting 
selection of details in, 26, 27- 
28; as a means of securing 
spontaneous attention, 177. 

Street preaching, sources of ef- 
fectiveness of, 237-238; dis- 
advantage of, in lack of uni- 
fied psychological group of 
hearers, 238. 



Structure, instinct defined in 
terms of, 3. 

Style in speaking, as a means of 
arousing emotion, 125-132. 

Subconscious, problem and the- 
ories of the, 16-18. 

Suggestibility, fundamental prin- 
ciples underlying phenomena 
of, 212-215 ; varies inversely 
as the insistence of the per- 
sonality upon maintaining its 
autonomy, 215 ; varies in- 
versely as the mental equip- 
ment and organization, 216- 
218; of children, 218-220; of 
women, 220-223; reasons for, 
in other classes of persons, 
223-224; of races in early 
stages of development, 278. 

Suggestion, discussion of, 209 ff. ; 
indefiniteness of meaning as 
used in popular speech, 209- 
210; the essential characteris- 
tic of process of, 210; distinc- 
tion between normal and ab- 
normal, 210-21 1 ; hysteria and 
hypnosis, 210-211; hypnotic 
suggestion differentiated from 
other forms of, 211-212; psy- 
chological principles which un- 
derlie phenomenon, 212-215 ; 
two fundamental laws of nor- 
mal suggestibility, 215-218; 
nobody beyond the reach of, 
218 ; extraordinary sugges- 
tibility of children, 218-220; 
women unsually open to in- 
fluence of, 220-223; causes of 
suggestibility in other classes 
of persons, 223-224 ; effective 
methods of, 224 ff. ; must be 
indirect, 224-225 ; importance 
of securing confidence of sub- 
ject, 225-226 ; importance of 
prestige in, 226-227; power of 
personality in, 227-228; shar- 
ing of prejudices as a means 
of, 228-229; susceptibility of 
those under sway of strong 
emotion, 229-230; use of repe- 
tition to render effective, 230- 



3§8 



INDEX 



22,2', effectiveness of, propor- 
tional to immediateness of re- 
sponse, 232-22,3 ; art of, char- 
acterized by lack of openness 
and straightforwardness, 233- 
234; sharp differentiation be- 
tween persuasion and, 234- 
235; warning to preachers re- 
garding, 235 ; collective, in 
mobs, 242-244. 
Superhuman influences, domi- 
nance of, over people living in 
conditions of natural environ- 
ment, 341-342. 

Teachers, supreme significance 
of sentiments and ideals to, 
109-110. 

Technical terms, divergence of 
mental systems in their theo- 
retical meanings to an extent 
overcome by, 55-56. 

Terrors, popular, as examples of 
mental epidemics, 267. 

Theological thinking, influence 
of modern philosophical think- 
ing felt by, 371. 

Theology, attitude of business 
type of mind toward, 332-334. 

Theoretical meaning and its re- 
lation to the functional, 45-47- 

Thinking, denned, 34; the psy- 
chology of, 35 ff. ; the func- 
tion of, to guide the organism 
in its adjustment to the en- 
vironment, 212. 

Titchener, E. B., "Text-book of 
Psychology," quoted, _ 88; 
quoted on form of conscious- 
ness, 166; cited on scope of 
attention, 177. 

Traube-Hering wave, the, 181. 

Tulip craze in Holland, example 
of popular mania, 266-267. 

Uncultured population, condition 
favourable to mental epidemic 
created by, 272-273. 

Understanding, problem of, re- 
sulting from differentiation of 



mental systems, 56-58; double 
character of problem, 58. 

Unemployment, evils of, 315. 

Unitarian revolt, reasons for 
the, 369. 

Unity, psychical, in an accidental 
concourse, 236-238; lack of, in 
street preacher's audiences, 
238; of the inspirational gath- 
ering, 239-240; three stages of 
mental, in inspirational gath- 
erings, 240-244. 

Universe, effect of scientific in- 
quiry on modern conception 
of. 355-357; confusion in the 
modern mind as to relation of 
God to the, 358-359- 

Unpleasantness, distinction be- 
tween pain and, 69-70; cause 
of, by some experiences, and 
of pleasantness by others, 75- 
79- 



Vegetable life, mode of respon- 
siveness characterizing, 187- 
188; psychical life wanting in, 
189. 

Versatility and shallowness, 
danger of development of 
combination, in ministers, 292- 
293. 

Virtues at the basis of success- 
ful business, 329-330. 

Vital assurance, one of the three 
classes of belief, 152, 153-154. 

Vital processes, correlation of, 
in the organism, 76; connec- 
tion of, with pleasant and un- 
pleasant states of conscious- 
ness, 77-79. 

Vividness of recalled experience, 
law of, 24. 

Volition, close relation of atten- 
tion to, 169-170. 

Voluntary action, meaning of, 
186 ; fundamental truths neces- 
sary to conception of, 186 ff. ; 
viewed as that which is di- 
rected toward a consciously 
conceived or imaged end, 



INDEX 



389 



194-195 ; distinction between 
degrees of, 195; securing of, 
by preaching, 206-208 ; stimu- 
lation to, the only antidote for 
an enfeebled will, 233. 
Voluntary attention, characteris- 
tics of, 173-175. 



Wage-earners. See Labouring 
men. 

War, responsibility of national 
prejudices for, 41 ; problems of 
economic and political ad- 
justment raised by the great, 
363-364. 

Waves, movement of mental epi- 
demics in, 270-271 ; following 
of, by reaction in opposite di- 
rection, 271; impossibility of 



two occurring at same time, 
271-272. 

Wells, H. G., " God, the Invisible 
King," by, 368. 

Will, fundamental truths neces- 
sary to a satisfactory idea of 
function of the, 186 ff. ; ques- 
tion of freedom of the, 196- 
200; strength of, a necessary 
quality in preachers, 205-206. 

Women, unusual suggestibility 
of, 220-223; rapid effect of 
crowd-suggestion upon, 246- 
247. 

Work, best times for, 182. 

Wundt, W. M., quoted concern- 
ing memory images, 25 ; fail- 
ure of, to distinguish between 
feeling and feeling-tone, 66- 
67. 



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